


When It Shall End

by Lyze



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The 100 (TV) Fusion, BAMF Clarke Griffin, Eventual Romance, F/F, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Slow Burn, Survival, semi-dark Clarke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-04-26 23:07:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 21,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14412468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyze/pseuds/Lyze
Summary: He shouldn't be here, but she should be, and everyone knew it."Kiss my ass, Praimfaya!" She crowed triumphantly.no longer on hiatus





	1. Tired

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [may we meet again](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8834218) by [a_simple_space_nerd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_simple_space_nerd/pseuds/a_simple_space_nerd). 



> Okay, so, Roan had to survive, dammit. Roan, Clarke, I ship it. Shall always ship it.
> 
> Ah....Comments welcome?
> 
> So, I've decided that I want to take this fic in a totally different direction. it will be bit skippy, before the rocket takes off, and I've changed it so that Becca's lab and the lighthouse bunker are in the same building. So, I will admit, this most definitely ignores science and starts to go into fantasy, but hey, the tv show had some pretty big science-shaped holes in it to so whatever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so, I get the show has this whole "there are no good guys" thing going, and, like, I get that, but, really. She never really forgave Finn. If he hadn't died, Clarke probably wouldn't have ever forgiven him. I disagree with the fact that Bellamy got away with killing 300 grounders. She DID kill the mountain men-but for a REASON. His actions were dictated by a rather cowardly fear, and call me vengeful and unforgiving, but I would definitely struggle to forgive something like that-or trust Bellamy at all. I DON"T HATE HIS CHARACTER. But he is driven by his fears and insecurities, and I struggle thinking that he can actually be trusted to make the wisest decisions while under pressure.
> 
> The reason I feel the Roan x Clarke (Is there a ship name for that? I really need to know.) is more viable is that while they have certainly clashed-they are completely willing to do what is necessary to protect their people -AND NOTHING MORE. Despite being from Azgeda, Roan does not crave violence like his mother or Ontari. He acts wisely despite his fear-and I'm totally planning to play with that whole concept of priorities.

The first time Clarke killed, it was out of mercy. Mercy, for young Adam, who had been internally and externally destroyed by the acid fog. The last…. The unnamed scavenger they had forced into the radiation chamber-the pain had been bad enough to wake him from the sedatives. There was roughly nine-hundred people in between that.  She was probably the worst single mass murderer in history. So _this?_ This wouldn’t be so bad-she didn’t do those things so _she_ could survive, but so the others could. Ever since they met in that cave, Clarke knew what it was to have another person understand- _truly understand-_ what it was like to bear that weight, and not fall under it.

They had been on opposite sides then, him fully prepared to steal the Ark, her just as ready to fight back, by any means necessary. She hadn’t convinced him to not do so out of any sense of morality, or mercy. It had been logical, and the best for _his people_ too.

They understood each other in that moment, had understood each other when she ran out to warn him of Trikru’s trap, had understood when they forced Luna to give up her marrow, had understood when she plunged that needle into her arm, had understood when he went to fight in the Conclave. They had known exactly when to trust each other, and when not to. She had genuinely mourned him, when she heard that Luna had killed him. Thought he died then.

But here he was again, face still burnt in places from the acid rain, leg wounded, but still fully prepared to fight to live, his silver gaze boring into her own. Clarke smiled ruefully-he had no right to ask, and he knew it, but he was asking for a suit anyway.

“We don’t have any more,” Bellamy said quietly. Echo shifts uncomfortably, Clarke can see it out of the corner of her eye. Echo would do it, too, she knows, but there is a part of her that just can’t let her that _stupid hero complex where everyone else comes first_

Clarke takes off her helmet, making to peel away her suit. “Clarke!” Bellamy cried. “You can’t, you’ll  die-”

“I’ll be fine,” Clarke said in a falsely cheer tone. “Nightblood, remember?”

“ _Untested, nightblood!”_  Bellamy yelled.

“And we’re testing it now,” Clarke said shortly. She handed the suit to Roan.

“Thank you,” He said quietly. She smiled back ruefully. He had to keep fighting-it as in his nature, just as it was in hers-but, her energy was running out, and her soul was tiring of the fight. Clarke knew the signs-she had classical depression, but it really wasn’t the time for it, and she could deal with it once they got to the Ring. When they got to the ring, she would have her rest.

  
  
  
  


He shouldn’t be alive,  Roan knew that. He had no right to ask for their help-he knew that too. After all, he had been fully prepared to kill Bellamy's sister and take the bunker for his own people. He didn’t blame Clarke for having taken over the bunker in the interim. He should have thought of that himself, really. But he was grateful- grateful that she had found her mercy and opened the doors, even knowing that her own would die because of it.

And, like everything else, Roan knew that he should not be the one here now-that should be Clarke. She, of all people, deserved most to reach the ring, her original home. No, Clarke should be where he was now, strapped to the chair of this ship, while he went out to fix the satellite. Except he had no experience with such technology and was thus useless. Rage and fear filled him as Raven cried that they were out of time. No.

_I bear it so they don’t have to._  And she really was this time, wasn’t she? Roan understood, remembering her words for him.

_Bellamy is the heart, and I’m the head. It’s why we work. But if I die…._ “

“You won’t,” Roan had snarled. The idea had unsettled him in a way he’d ever felt before. She’d only given him this sad little smile, as though she already knew, even then, that it would come to this.

“ _If I Roan, then someone else needs to become the head. It can’t be Raven, and it won’t be Bellamy, as we both very well know. Raven would break, and Bellamy can only ever go from one extreme to the other-if he became the head, he would lose the heart. So if I don't make it, then it needs to be you. Bellamy respects you. It might take a while, but he’ll learn to listen._

Alright, then, Clarke. I’ll keep this promise.

“Close the door,” Roan rasped. Bellamy jerked, panicked eyes flying to his. “Close the door,” Roan said roughly, “Or what she did will be for nothing.” it was a low blow, perhaps, but it was the only thing Roan could think of to get him to obey.

Choking back sobs, Bellamy closed the door. Raven began moving the controls and-they left. Left Clarke behind. _I’m sorry, Clarke. I’ll do my best._  And the worst part was, he would. Because he was already like that-they had both understood that; understood that at some fundamental level, they were the same.

_I’ll be that head._ There was no other choice.

  


When she saw that ship leave, Clarke’s only thought was, _thank you. She didn’t even know who she was thanking. Roan, Bellamy, Raven, or whatever deity might be listening._ Now all she had to do was… Nothing? There would be no surviving the death wave, she knew this.

Scared of breaking her bones and having to hurt before it all ended, Clarke climbed down the tower, wandering slowly in the direction of the Lighthouse bunker. Even with the suit, it was beginning to get hot, and she knew the wave would be here soon, to burn her into nothing.

Somewhere nearby, a whimper sounded. It startled Clarke-the sound hadn’t come from her. Instinctively, Clarke headed for a nearby bush. It was almost dead, already half withered away. Pulling back the branches, Clarke gasped.

It was a wolf pup. Still no older than a month or two, but old enough to walk properly. It was burnt from the radiation, but not fatally-not yet. It shouldn't’ even be alive at this point. And suddenly, Clarke panicked. The death wave had swept everywhere else already. They were the only to living beings left on this island, and t was immeasurably cruel that would have to die nw. A surge of rage and determination filled Clarke. “We’re not dying today,” she declared; to the pup, to the earth, to that stupid death wave that could _kiss her ass_ as Raven would have said. Clarke pulled off her helmet, gasping at the instant pain as her flesh began to burn. She grasped the pup and shoved him into her suit as gently but quickly as she could, tucking his -or her- face into her chest, and pulled the helmet back on.

And then Wanheda ran, because death was hers to command, and she had decided that it would take neither of them today. They made it just in time. Her suit was punctured, and both she and the pup-who-should-be-dead were coughing blood. The doors sealed, and Clarke pulled off her helmet, collapsing to the floor as blood pooled around her.

    Black and red pooled together in the floor, seething with radiation, absorbed into the skin and moths and blood of each of them and their fate was sealed.


	2. Clarke?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New discovery to be made.

The beginning was agonizing. Clarke lay on the floor for a day and a half, fading in and out of consciousness. Eventually, she managed to climb to her feet and check over the wolf pup. He was alive thankfully. She found some food supplies, having done her inventory whilst she had nothing else to do. She mixed them some rations-it was gritty, disgusting food that was merely a way to get their bodies all the essentials.  
When they finally managed to finish their food, Clarke peeled off the suit and carried the pup upstairs, to one of the exotically fancy rooms upstairs, with the bed and faux fur blankets and the shower. She cleaned them both, luxuriating in the shower, before crawling naked under the covers, shivering and crying softly. The pup settled curled up under her chin, whimpering occasionally along with her. They were alone together.  
Oxymoron, Clarke whispered to herself.

 

The first month was hard. If it wasn’t for the pup -now confirmed as a he- whom Clarke named Beowolf-Beo for short-, she knew she wouldn’t have made it. It took everything Clarke had to crawl out of bed each morning. But if she didn’t, then Beo could not eat, and then he would die and she would be alone alone alone-  
That fear made her rise each time, and cuddle Beo close. He may have been a wild animal, but he seemed to share that fear, and perhaps understand what the death wave had done, because he never left her side. Clarke found bags of fertilized soil, and plant seeds like potatoes and lettuce. Things she would be able to grow.  
She set up a growing room right away, spreading a thick swatch of soil on the floor and planting the seeds. Beo seemed to be doing well enough with the ration packets, but Clarke knew that the plants would not be good for him, and that he needed to protein. So she planned their diet for the next twelve months. Twelve months, where they could not go outside without risking a painful death.  
She gave half of her rations to Beo, along with a half of his own. Two halves for him everyday. They were both ridiculously skinny, but by month two and a half, the potatoes grew enough to eat, so Clarke cooked them-the lab/lighthouse was fully prepared to run on it’s own. Just as the mansion had been. She also assigned a room for Beo to do his business. Ew. was all there was to say really. She used his feces as fertilizer, something she refused to even think of. The lab was equipped with a radio, and she thus attempted to contact the Ring.  
Roan, Bellamy and perhaps even Raven would all be blaming themselves right now, and she couldn’t bear the thought of them suffering like that. She never received a reply. The silence was torturous, so she played music on the speakers for hours at a time. Teen Spirit was both hers and Beo's favorite-she would yell, and he would howl, along to the music.  
After month three, she discovered a previously undiscovered room. It had a set of holograms, an a series of exercise programs, including hardcore martial arts. She had nothing to do, so she she gave it a try. The exercises were rigorous, and trying, but they kept her mind and body occupied, so Clarke did them. She even learned all different types of sword styles, and discerned that this room was the source of the grounder culture-Becca must have learned these same skills.  
By the time month eight rolled around, Clarke could safely claim she was skilled at one on one combat-the holograms were extraordinarily helpful. She trained for two hours every day. There was simply nothing better to occupy her time. Her days slowly went on to become organised, and she fell into a rhythm. In the morning, she would wake up, eat her potatoes and a small tiny portion of their rations -to get her protein- and then jog with Beo for an hour. He needed to stay healthy too, for when they left the bunker.  
Afterwards, she would radio the ring. Mostly, she addressed them to the group in general. She talked about everything- all the silly little things Beo might have done, like chase his tail or bounce around from one side of the room to the other-she ranted the one time he chewed her sock into nothing- and how the plants were growing. She knew that would interest Monty. She talked to Raven about all the science/engineering journals she was slowly but steadily working through. Becca was most definitely a genius.  
She even talked to Roan and occasionally Echo, about the hologram room, and how her training was going. She would have liked to spar with them now, and see who came out the winner. Every time, before signing off, she would plead for them to reply. Every time, they never did. Clarke forced herself to keep trying.  
Month eight, things began to get...strange. Clarke began to dream-not the usual nightmares about everyone on the ring or bunker being dead, but about running, chasing tail-sometimes she even saw herself. But it was at a strange angle, from below, closer to the floor. It occurred to her that this must be how Beo saw things. She couldn’t comprehend it-why was she dreaming this in the first place? They felt vividly real, and they dreams were not confined to her sleep-sometimes, she would be doing something, and an image would suddenly flow into her head. Sometimes, even with scents and sounds. A few times, she would see herself, sometimes, she was running around the room on four legs. It was disconcerting.  
By month nine, her eye color began to change-just the left eye. She spoke to Raven and Monty about it in a panic, scared that she had begun to hallucinate and go crazy. Her eyes, once both a clear blue, became one blue and brown. Just as Beo's eyes became brown and blue. Clarke even had the system take up close photos, trying to prove it wasn’t real. But it was- and that freaked her out. How could they have the exact same-or exact opposites, really- mutations in the same timeframe?  
She gave up on answers quickly, but found that their new bond had many benefits, now. She knew exactly which potatoes were ready, based on their scents, and now she and Beo understood each other in an entirely new, deep, fundamental way.  
And finally, they reached the end of month twelve.

 

The first days were...Difficult. Bellamy seemed to heap the blame on Roan, and Roan could admit that he blamed himself a bit too. As a result of the tension between them, the two often tended to but heads, and on more than one occasion, they physically fought. Bellamy would start it, and Roan would finish it with brutal efficiency. The group was split on who to listen to, which was fair, given they came from different places.  
Echo took Roan’s side predictably, although Roan rarely so much as looked at her. She was a traitor, dishonorable, and he wanted nothing to do with her. Raven seemed to go as a mediator between the two men, and Murphy, well, he enjoyed antagonizing the both of them. Although, no one dared say Clarke’s name, not even Bellamy. She was always her or she, but never Clarke. The one time Echo called her Wanheda, both Roan and Bellamy nearly floated her, and no one spoke to her for a week.  
Roan learned to occupy his time with training, or learning about the algae farm, the controls in the control room… Or just spending time in Clarke’s cell. Raven took him there after the first month in, seeming to understand that although he hadn’t known her as long, he mourned her just the same. She mentioned loving to draw once in passing, and her cell was proof of this. Roan memorized every stroke and shade on the walls. For someone who had never been to earth, her art was remarkably realistic, and though it didn’t fill this odd hole in his chest, it did help to scab it over, just a little bit.  
Roan counted the days before they could return to earth. It was on day 45 that it happened. It was small, really, just a little buzz on the main speakers. The sound, however, was irritating, and inescapable since the speakers went down every hallway and room. Roan asked Raven to get started on fixing it right away.  
She frowned. “Is there a reason, oh mighty co-leader? It isn’t exactly the biggest issue in this place.” Roan sighed through his nose.  
“No,” he agreed. “But tensions are a little high right now, in case you haven’t noticed, and I really don’t want to get in another fight with Bellamy. He’s volatile enough right now.” Raven winced.  
“Fair enough,” she admitted. She gave Roan a surprisingly earnest look. “I’ll get right on it.”  
“Thanks,” he muttered, leaving to make his rounds of checking up on the others. Bellamy sure wasn’t doing it, and Roan tried not to be annoyed with him for it. But, hey, he was new to space, and Bellamy wasn’t, so that definitely made it harder to pick up all the things that seemed to slip past the leader-co leader, because Roan was most definitely not his Second. Bellamy had been Clarke’s Second, but he and Roan stood more as equals. The others respected the both of them, although Bellamy more so. They had been through a lot more together, and Roan would be the first to say it would take a lot more time before he could trust them fully and vice versa. Of course, no that they were n space, they had five full years of it.Roan marveled at it-there was no worry about food, or shelter, or who’s trying to kill who. Of course, it was lacking excitement too. Every wall was the same (Clarkes room, now his, was the exception.) the food was the same, and absurdly disgusting, every day. And the more time he had, the more he seemed to stress, which didn’t make any sense. He had just started sparring with Murphy when a shrill, high pitched noise came through the speakers. They both cringed, clutching at their ears.  
“-swear, when we get out of this bunker and start having a full three meals a day, his growth spurt will hit and then he’ll get so big just to make me take back every teasing thought about his size now.” She sighed. Roan staggered, catching himself on the wall.  
“Clarke?” he gasped. Murphy was gaping at the speakers, as though they would somehow provide all the answers.  
“I suppose I can’t expect him to grow up at a normal rate. Two half-rations is still just a ration, but I need to save for when we leave in few weeks, because god knows just how long it will take us to reach Polis and the bunker, and even then there’s no guarantee they’ll be alive- they will be.” He heard her take a deep breath the sound a rush of static on the speakers. His heart was beating beating beating and his breath was scraping its way in and out of his lungs like shards of ice-  
“God, I can’t believe we’re leaving in two weeks. I mean, I haven’t seen the outdoors in twelve months, so, it’s kinda scary. I’ve no idea what it’s like, either, cause the outer cameras are completely shot. I’ve already started giving Beowulf his radiation pills. I would try to give him nightblood, but it’s a lot harder to cross the interspecies barrier between human and wolf, so that’s out. It was hard enough figuring out how much to give him. He doesn’t like them-they’re worse than rations apparently. I suppose that’s fair. He chewed up my other sock, the cheeky bastard. I don’t even know how he did it, because he’s constantly sending me images through the bond these days-it’s more like a video, really. He isn’t even guilty about it either. Meh. I’ll just make you sleep on the floor tonight, hmm? So how you like that, huh, Beo?” A sharp, real whine sounded on the speakers, and Roan almost laughed. Only Clarke would be able to survive the apocalypse and adopt a wolf pup.  
His gut clenched. They had left her. He and Bellamy, because it had been the both of them. Over the speakers, Clarke sighed again, shakily this time. “Are you ever going to reply?” she said pleadingly. “Can you even hear me? Please, I-I need to know you guys are alive up there. If you can hear this, I know I’ve said it before, but please don’t feel guilty for leaving me here. I’m proud-I wouldn’t have made it in time, and we all know it. I’m proud of you-both of you.” Because she would know who left her behind. Of course, she would. It was Clarke-she knew everything, somehow. “May we meet again,” Clarke said softly. She sounded like she was about to cry. And it was this, perhaps, the made Roan move. They had to reply-had to reach her he had to reach her-  
When he reached the control room, along with literally everybody else, Raven was already furiously working on the communications, cursing everyone and everything as she did. Bellamy looked as terrible as Roan felt.  
“How the hell is she alive!?” he shouted.  
“Nightblood, it has to be,” Roan said shortly. God, she had been down there, almost completely alone-because an animal wasn’t the same as a person- for an entire year.  
“We have to get down,” Murphy said immediately. “We have to help her-”  
“We can’t,” Raven snapped. “The ground won’t be safe for at least five years. Besides, we don’t even have a way to get down, not yet. The most we can hope for is to reply-and even that possibility is shaky right now. Blake- hand me that screwdriver. The rest of you- I don’t know, make a list of questions you want to ask her, or something. Actually, yeah, do that-try and make them useful ones. We’ve a whole year to catch up on, apparently. Murphy plopped himself near one of the screens, brought up an empty page, and started typing away.  
“Right then,” he declared. “How are you alive, what happened after we took off, how did you get a wolf-”  
“Food supply,” Roan said roughly. “She mentioned half-rations.” Murphy nodded, that goofy smile still on his face. But Roan had coexisted with him for a year now, and knew that the man was holding back tears-he owed Clarke Emori’s life, and he too had had an understanding of sorts with her.  
Don’t worry Clarke, he thought. We’ll find a way to reply. Nothing else would do.

 

Another call, another day of radio silence. Clarke wondered bitterly if they were even receiving her messages. Because if they were, than surely they would have found a way to reply by now. Unless they aren’t alive to hear you. No. They were-they had to be.  
But even if they were-they had to leave, next week at the latest, or she would run out of rations for Beo. And if anything happened to him, then Clarke knew, knew that she wouldn’t be able to keep going. They had lived, alone together, for a year. They were one, as cheesy as that sounded, the bond between them forged by pain and fear, blood and radiation. One could not exist without the other, not as entirely dependent on each other. But still… Clarke blinked away tears. She missed them, her friends. God, she even missed Echo. She just wanted to hear someone’s voice other than her own. Left with nothing, Clarke crawled into bed and buried her face in Beo's fur, sobbing. She had to get out- she had to get out.  
That night, she packed everything, all their food and rations, fashioning a sort of harness/bag for Beowulf so that they could carry it between them. When dawn broke, Wanheda and the Wolf stood at the doors, prepared to face death yet again.  
When the radio crackled on the speakers, and Bellamy’s desperate voice said a frantic  
“Hello?”


	3. Wanheda, the Wolf, and Praimfaya.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hallo! I've gotten some nice comments, so I'm pretty thankful. After this weekend, there's school, so the writing might get spotty again, but I'm gonna try to keep consistent. If you want to know when updates are without having to check, just subscribe, and you'll get an email with each update. If not, whatever. 
> 
> I'm in a Roarke mood, and I might end up punishing Bellamy and Octavia too, because I'm sorry, but I really just want to kick both their asses after this last season. Like, hey, Clarke betrayed you, but you forgave Echo for stabbing your sister in the gut? Sure, Bell. Keep up the hypocrisy. Octavia, your a narcissistic, prideful, scared tyrannical bitch. And Bellamy Blake, you should have waited for her too! AHHHH

The island was no longer an island. It was a barren wasteland, and Clarke regretted not bringing more water. They had to cross the dried seabed, following the map as best they could in these old new surroundings. (Oxymoron)  
It took half a day, in sweltering heat, to find the rover. It took nearly as much time to dig it out. She must have lost half the water in her body just by sweating. But it worked- the rover was out and functioning, by some miracle. She packed everything to one side, and she and Beo curled up together. He was worse off than she was-he had a fur coat.  
When the sun set, they were both grateful for that-it seemed this new world went from one extreme to the other-sweltering during the day, but horribly freezing at night. Clarke switched their schedules around after the second day out of the lighthouse. She drove at night-sometimes with Beo running outside the car, if he felt like it- and they slept during the day, curled up in the back of their new home. Clarke had to admit-there was a part of her that missed the bunker, nice and cool with a shower and warm soft bed and her hologram room and fully equipped kitchen. And her radio- _if she died now, no one would no. But they already think you’re dead, so it doesn’t matter, does it?_ Clarke didn’t dare dwell on that thought. The radio would have died soon enough, and she couldn't afford the weight.  
Through the entire 150 kilometers it took to reach Polis-what was left of Polis, anyway- it was, once again, Beo who got her through this journey. The entire city was nothing but ashes, and a few still standing buildings. It had once been great-even the tower was nothing but a bit of rubble at the base. Together, they tried to dig them out.  
With Beo’s help, she hauled the entire slabs of rock away-but all that seemed to do was destabilize the rubble, and the structure collapsed fully with a colossal groan. Rock rained down, and Clarke yelped, diving out of the tower, Beo at her side. Clarke screamed her fury, tears tracking down her cheeks. Had she really come this way for nothing?  
The Bunker entrance was completely entombed, now. She blinked back tears. 1,200 people were in there, and she couldn't get them out. Was the bunker to be their grave?  
Beo whined lowly, shoving his head under her hand, both seeking and giving comfort. She rubbed his ears, knowing that he had looked forward to seeing other living beings. He wasn’t tame-were anyone else to pet him, they would probably get bit- but another living being would have been nice, and Clarke thought her anticipation must have transferred to him. He knew what she was thinking and seeing and feeling, and she knew all this of him in return. It was like a constant, sensory video stream between them-as though she actually had his consciousness in her head.  
“We’ll come back,” she whispered to them both. “When the others come down,” she said more firmly, we will come back.” With a final, longing look at the bunker, Wanheda and the Wolf turned away. Not knowing where else to go, Clarke drove them to Arcadia. It might have supplies, if they were lucky. Maybe some guns, and other things they could use.  
It was a grueling drive-again, they drove at night and recharged during the day- and Arkadia proved as devastating as it was helpful.  
Clarke found Jasper. She found his note for Monty. She also found the other corpses, the people who had chosen to follow Jasper into death. She couldn’t blame them, but a part of her hated Jasper for being here for her to find-hadn’t she buried enough people already? She did it, though. Beo helped her dig the graves, and sat with her when she cried into his neck, clutching at him with a desperation born of despair and heartache.

Afterward, she dug up some more rations, preserved in a still-sealed room. Used properly, these could keep them going for two months. She found a storage of guns, too, including a rifle with a leather strap. She carved everyone’s names into it; the only honoring she could afford to give to their souls.  
She left with the guns, Jasper’s letter, his goggles, and Mia’s little music device, playing the music on the speakers while they drove. The Death Wave had swept from Polis towards the bunker, weakening mildly as it went. So, presumably, any survivable place would be away from Polis, beyond the bunker. They stopped at the bunker for a single night. Clarke was unable to resist the temptation of a clean shower, and she needed to stock up on water. She grabbed extra blankets and pillows, rope and potato parts so that she could perhaps grow them at some point. Then, they left. Again, heading out into the wasteland.

Again, missing the Ring’s radio calls the next morning.

They traveled for a month straight. At some point, Clarke thought they might have entered what used to be North Carolina. Here, trees still stood-weak, and shriveled and dead, but they were standing, and that was what mattered. Bugs-the first living things Clarke had seen in so long it made her want to cry- plastered to the windshield, and at the end of every night, Clarke would pick them off and split them between herself and Beo. They weren’t as bad as they looked, really. Or maybe it was just her starved tastebuds talking, because she’d been living on the same meal for a year and two months now.  
Beo seemed to agree, because he scarfed them down like he was gasping in air. It was more disgusting to watch him eat than eat herself. He swatted her face with his tail in an ‘I heard that’ gesture that made Clarke laugh. He heard everything, just like she heard all of his thoughts. It was easier to deal with, because his mind worked more on sensory input, and direct conclusions, than all the clutters of the human mind. He was intelligent, but simple in design, and she loved that about him.  
Here, the desert tapered off and gave way to rock. In the distance, the mountains were rose like giant corpses clawing at the sky. She started driving during the day now, following the remains of what used to be roads. Sometimes she had to stray from them, but she did her best to return, knowing it would be the safest way through them. Four percent. She could do this, she could find it. At least, she knew it was on this continent. Perhaps there were other remnants of humanity in other parts of the planet. She could only hope so, but like the bunker and the ring, there was no guarantee anyone was alive.  
The bug quantity increased with every day she drove, and so Clarke and Beo gorged themselves on them. Clarke took it as a sign that she was getting closer to that four percent-they had to come from somewhere, right?  
“You’ll see, Beo,” she said confidently. “We’ll find it, and then everything will be okay. We can build a house, maybe, like one of those tents. And maybe we’ll find a freshwater source-these mountain might still have glaciers, deep inside. The earth’s total land area is 510.1 million square kilometers. 4% of that still leaves 20,404,000 square kilom-”  
The rock walls around them opened up abruptly, leaving the rest of the mountains to be swallowed by the green. Clarke brought the rover to a screeching halt, gasping in shock. Beowulf howled, clawing at the door. Clarke jerked into motion, reaching over and opening the door for him before scrambling out herself.  
Clarke cried freely, staring at the valley below. It stretched on for miles. In this moment, it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, more than the first time she had landed on the ground. The trees stretched on for miles, and she could even see a great waterfall in the distance, could feel the fresh humidity in the air, the life.  
Clarke screamed, pumping her fist in the air and jumping up and down like a child because this was it, _she was alive and Beo was alive and they had made it made it the found the f_ ucking _percent._  
“You can kiss my ass, Praimfaya!” she crowed triumphantly. Beowulf howled, and she howled with him (though not very well, but who was left to hear her and care, anyway?)


	4. On Your Own, for NOTHING.

Two months. That was how long it had been since they first learned Clarke was still alive, and had been trying to radio her. She had neither replied, or called at all. At this point, they were all fearing the worst, except perhaps Murphy.

“She’s a cockroach,” the man said proudly. “She’s alive. She’s the bloody Wanheda. She probably left the lighthouse early. Or the radio broke, maybe. But come on-it’s Clarke. If Praimfaya couldn’t kill her, then nothing can. Practically a goddess, that one.” it took Roan a lot of effort not to punch the prick. Bellamy still yelled at him, and probably would have punched him if it weren’t for Raven. The two had grown steadily closer as the first year went on. She wasn’t co-leader, not exactly, but Bellamy trusted her advice, and frankly Roan did too. She had a no-bullshit attitude that made her as stubborn as a bull, with all the intelligence of her namesake. Roan had to respect her thick skin. Despite feeling guilty about Clarke’s being left behind, Raven continued to hold as much faith as Murphy, although it was a little less blind, and she never called Clarke a cockroach, which Roan appreciated. 

They called every single day, at first, without fail. Multiple times, actually, in the mornings and evenings. Slowly, over the next six months, their calls became more infrequent, until only Roan would approach the radio room. Each time, he knew she wouldn’t reply, and quite probably not hear him anyway. 

He still did it, telling her about the state of the ring-his understanding had been growing due to proximity to a mechanic, he supposed- the emotional states of everyone, anything interesting that might have happened. How bad, or mildly better, Monty’s algae tasted. He discussed everyone’s mental well being with her, trying to imagine her responses. It was difficult-they had understood, but not known, each other. Still, it helped him sort out his thoughts, and view things from another perspective, one that always seemed to be as emotional as it was ruthlessly rational.

Since learning of her survival, Roan had also become somewhat obsessed with staring down at Earth. Before, he had avoided it at all costs. It had been nothing but a tomb for the one person he had well and truly admired. Now, it might still be, but he held at out hope. It was Clarke-she continually achieved the impossible like it was a habit.

A second year passed, then a third. That was when Raven finally admitted that she didn’t know how to get them back down to earth. 

“The problem,” she explained, “ is that we don’t have enough fuel to get down. I’m sorry, but there isn’t anything I can do.”

Roan got drunk that night. It was the first time he had done so since the time they first called Clarke and she didn’t reply.  He avoided Clarke’s room, too scared of ruining the art on the walls-they were precious, and he could not in good conscience ruin them. So he sat back against the wall of the empty room next to his, drinking Monty’s moonshine and cursing and ranting as freely as he wanted for hours, until at last he fell silent, lost to hazy thoughts. 

Just when he was falling into a sort of waking sleep, the door hinges creaked. It was two and a half decades spent in Azgeda-and out- that made him instantly aware, though Roan felt volatile in a way that was unfamiliar. He would live out his life here, in a metal ring in space, never to return to his home. The thought, combined with the alcohol, made him look up with tears in his eyes. It was Echo, looking as drunk and as terrified and despairing.

His relationship with Echo was… complicated. He could never forget that he had banished her, but there was also no Azgeda left for her to be banished  _ from. _ Roan could respect her for her skills as a spy, and as a warrior. But despite his efforts, he could not respect the person that she was. 

She was too quick to resort to violence, irrationally so, too willing to risk and spend lives when it could otherwise be avoided. She had never known what to actually  _ do _ with the information she obtained, and was too much a coward to ever lead, or be allowed to think proactively. Roan trusted her on the ring because he had no other choice, but he always thought about it twice before giving her an important task.

“What do you want?” he asked gruffly. She inhaled sharply, sitting down beside him. He cringed when her shoulder brushed his. 

“I know you still hate me for what I did,” she began. “But I was doing what was best for our people. Surely, my king, you can see that now. I have served faithfully, always-”

“I’m not king anymore, in case you haven’t noticed. If you’re looking for me to repeal your banishment, fine. But it doesn’t matter now anyway. As for your excuses- I have never cared to hear them. What do you really want, Echo?” She took a deep, steadying breath, and Roan turned to look at her warily.

“To serve,” she said softly. “As I have always served.” Echo leaned forward, pressing her lips to his and shoving her tongue in his mouth. Roan froze, every muscle of his body tightening and twisting into knots. 

It wasn’t a graceful kiss. It had no finesse, and for a spy-she was remarkably unseductive. She gave a pitiful, wanton moan, moving to cup his face. Roan’s brain woke up- he shoved her away with all his strength, not caring that he sent her sprawling on the floor. Echo cried out in distress. He ignored it, wiping her taint off his tongue with a sleeve.

“What,” he said slowly. “Did you think you were  _ doing _ ?” Echo’s lips trembled, but he was beyond concern for her feelings and ego. How dare she touch him, with such disgusting familiarity and expectation?

“I can serve still-you can pretend I’m  _ her _ if you want, my King-” 

“Let me make this  _ clear, _ ” Roan hissed, getting to his feet. “I do not  _ want _ you Echo, I do not  _ desire _ you. I don’t even respect or care for you. What you choose to do with yourself is not my concern. But if you  _ ever _ come onto me like that again, I will  _ end _ you. Is. That. Clear?”  

Echo nodded shakily, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. “Good,” Roan said flatly. “Now get out.” 

 

She did.

 

_ You can pretend I’m her, if you want.  _

  
  
  
  
  


He and Echo didn’t acknowledge each other for months. If one walked in, the other the walked out. If she was given an assignment, it was through Bellamy. Neither of them spoke about what happened, but somehow everyone knew anyway. Had he yelled that night? Roan couldn’t really remember. He couldn’t bring himself to tell Clarke on the radio-it felt wrong, somehow. He felt guilty.

_ You can pretend I’m her, if you want. _

 

Did he want to? Roan didn’t think so-he didn’t know her well enough to decide that. And since they were never getting to ground, it didn’t matter anyway, did it? 

_ I’m sorry, Wanheda. Your on your own now, and for nothing. _


	5. The Dead, and the Hungry.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke lets them go.

It had been exactly three and a half years since Praimfaya, now. For Clarke and Beo, it was paradise. No humans had survived her in Shallow Valley. Clarke was of the opinion they didn’t even try-she found every one of the villagers curled up together, more ashes and stone than human, in the main building of the village. She mountd their bodies on a pyre and burned them to nothing.

After that, though- the place was built for Clarke . It was full of color, everywhere, dyed onto the cloths and splattered on the walls, woven into strings that hung from one building to another. The entire valley was a gift, and Clarke dreamed of the day she would be able to share it with others.

Over time, she and Beo set up multiple ‘dens’.One, in a more moderately sized home edging the main square. Clarke filled it with sketches, on every single wall, of family and friends and things she found in shallow valley. She and Beo spent their summers there.

While exploring, she and Beo stumbled upon a a cave sealed with a curtain of ivy. Well, Be o sniffed it out, really. It was perfect- long and curving and well protected from wind and cold by rock walls on all sides.It even had a small set of cascades nearby. It also had good hunting-the humans might have given up, but he wildlife had hidden from Praimfaya, and their efforts were rewarded.

Clarke and Beo spent their winters here. She set up the room with furs of all sizes, hanging from the walls and lining the floor and piled in the corner. The only clear space was the fire pit. It proved quite cozy on the days and nights when rain or frost or mist settled outside. The rain was still a little black- all the animals would hide away from it, and only Clarke could bear to go outside when they did.  

True to form, now that they ate a good three times a day -rabbits bred like, well, _rabbits_ \- Beowulf began to grow at an astonishing rate. He wasn’t just big now. His shoulders quite nearly reached _hers_ and he was big enough to ride now. Sometimes, she did, shooting down prey from astride his back. He wasn’t a horse-she _always_ asked permission. He always gave it- they were two halves of the whole, seeing and hearing and smelling everything the other did in a connection that never faltered or flickered. His sentience was entirely inside her mind, and her inside of his. He would track the prey, she would shoot it down, and he would make the kill.  She would string up the meat to dry, and he would guard it to ensure that no scavengers ate what was theirs. They patroled their mini-borders together- they were not the only predators in the woods, and it would not do to have a black bear or a wildcat sneak into their territory. One time, a bear tried to steal from their reserve- he got nothing but bite wounds for his troubles, although Clarke berated Beo while she treated the rather nasty gouges on his shoulder and muzzle.

“You should have let me shoot it!” she said hotly. “I don’t have to get up close and personal like you do!” Beowulf growled lowly, and she received a surge of irritation that was not her own. “Of course I’m worried!” she snapped back. “Look at you! You’re bleeding!” And missing a good bit of his magnificent pelt, too, but she knew better than to say that outloud.

The wolf sulked ferociously when she made him sit around for three days in order to recover. At one point, she laughed at the ridiculousness of playing doctor to such a mighty animal, but then Beo growled at her, and she did her best to hide her giggles. (He felt her amusement anyways, but it was the principle of the thing.)

The seasons came, and the seasons went. It was… Quiet. And peaceful. Did that mean that with other humans, there would be no peace? She didn’t know. Didn’t want to know, either. She and Beo watched time slip past them, and were content. They had food in their bellies, and land to explore. They swam in the lake, or showered beneath the cascades. They listened to the birdsong. Every morning, and every evening, Clarke trained. It kept her fit, and healthy, and her mind sharp.  

And there was no one else to fight.

 

Year five arrived, and the others didn’t. There was no hope now, for seeing her friends again-in space, and in the bunker. Clarke spent a week unable to leave the cave, clutching Beo like the lifeline he was. Was she destined to be alone? Was this penance for mount weather, and the TonDC, and the 300 people she burned alive?

 

_But didn’t you do what had to be done?_

 

_Didn’t you save the lives that mattered?_

 

But I shouldn't decide which lives matter more.

 

 _Then somebody else would have.  And who? Somebody like Jaha, who’s fanatical, Kane, who was incapable of such choice, Bellamy, who is always too rash. Abby? Too naive, still thinking the ground is the dream, unable to see where she made a mistake? Who saw them all as savages? Octavia, who hated everyone and everything, and only volunteered for the conclave because she wanted to fight and kill? Come now, Clarke. You chose so they didn’t have to, so they didn't get to choose_ wrong.

 

And where did that get me? All alone, that’s where. 

 

_It left you free. Aren’t you happy now?_

 

I’m alone.  How can I be happy? Isn’t that wrong? 

 

 _You are surviving without fighting. Scratch that, you’re_ living _.  You have Beowulf. You don’ have to worry or care for everyone. You were selfless for so long. How do you know this isn’t a reward? You get to watch the sun rise and set. You get to swim in the lake. You get to draw without end. Why shouldn’t you be happy?_

 

Because I killed nine hundred people? 

 

_Should Beo feel guilty every time he kills a rabbit?_

 

No! Of course not! He has to! 

 

_So did you._

 

That was different. They were people, not rabbits! 

 

_They were trying to kill you and yours. Should you have let them?_

 

I should have found another way to stop them? 

 

_When you pulled that lever, did you have another way?_

 

….No 

 

_If you could have, you would have. That is what matters. But you didn’t, so you did._

 

But…. They’re still gone. I’m still alone. 

 

_The dead are gone, and the living are hungry. Now they are gone, and you are hungry. Get up, Wanheda._

 

That isn’t me. 

 

_Aren’t we?_

 

_Wanheda._

 

_Wanheda._

 

_Wanheda._

 

_Get up, Wanheda._

 

Clarke got up. And from then on, she listened to the voice in her head. The voice named _Wanheda._  

 

 _The survivor._ _The_   _Commander of Death._ The _Wolf._

 

 _The dead are gone, and she_   _is_ _hungry._

 


	6. Getting DOWN.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "you guys got ten minutes to pack your shit. Emori, you're with me."
> 
> They were going home.

“Where’s Murphy?” Roan growled. Raven sighed through her nose, looking pointedly past the door. “Still?” Roan said sharply. “It's been two days.” Raven rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, well, he hates us all that much, apparently.” Muttering expletives under his breath, Roan headed for the far side of the ring.  

By now, he had walked this hall a thousand times. He knew the exact shape and size of every room. He still resided in Clarke's, but he’d explored the rest while scavenging for anything remotely useful. Surviving on the ring wasn’t easy-there were things to be done, every day. So no, he wasn’t going to let Murphy mope and sit on his ass. Even if he had to kick said ass into action, dammit.

“Murphy!” he shouted.

“What?” the depressed boy sulked. “Finally come to bring me food?”

He snorted. “No. I’m bringing you to the food.” Murphy, sitting with his back against the wall, facing a window to earth, crossed his arms defiantly.

“And how are you gonna make me, oh great and wise co-leader?” Roan’s brows flicked up.

“Are we really going there again?” Murphy hummed, not looking at him. Roan ground his teeth together.

“Just because your girlfriend broke up with you does not mean that you can just sit around and mope-”

“Totally does,” Murphy snarked. “I reserve the right to not look at any of your ugly-ass faces for as long as I please.” That damned muscle near his eye was twitching, and Roan’s temper began to rise as steadily as the tide. _God, what he wouldn’t give to watch the tide rise and fall again. Mmmm, a beach._

“Look,” he snapped, “You can either get up, or -”

 

“ _Roan.”_ In all his six years with him, Roan had never heard Murphy speak with this tone of voice. Utterly serious, and a little scared.

“What?” he said cautiously. If the man started to cry, screw leadership-he would take off running and grab Raven instead. Maybe Bellamy…

Murphy pointed out past the window. “Is that-is that a _ship?”_ His voice cracked like an egg. Roan looked, searching for whatever he was talking about, knowing it was probably some sort of debris orbiting-

It was most definitely a ship. A large, large ship-almost as long as the ring, just not quite so tall. Of course, it was hard to judge size in space, but-it was _massive_.  

“Control room- _now_ ” Roan said sharply. Not even his new found fear of Emori could prevent John from listening this time. He just nodded dumbly. Roan took off running.

When he reached the control room, Bellamy was just instructing Raven to kill the lights.

“Are you kidding?” she said incredulously. “They have _fuel!_ They could help us get back home!”

“Presuming they’re friendly,” Roan pointed out, “which we don’t actually know, so _kill the goddamn lights, Raven!”_

“But if they’re friendly,” she began,

“When are ‘they’ _ever_ friendly? Just _do it.”_  Raven snapped her mouth shut, glaring at him. She also shut off all the lights. The eight of them watched with bated breath.

The hours passed slowly, but the ship didn’t come any closer. They all flinched when light flared, and a smaller ship peeled off it’s mother, dropping down to earth. To home-their little spot of green. Eden, as they called it.

“What do we do?” Monty said uncertainly.   

“We have to get to the ground,” Roan said flatly. “Clarke is down there.”

“And Octavia and the rest of the bunker,” Bellamy added. He was scowling, worry digging deep grooves in the lines of his face.   

“Try to radio them,” Roan said slowly. Raven glared, clearly thinking _why couldn’t I earlier?_  Roan scowled right back at her.

“At the very least,” he pointed out, “They are now fewer in number.” He turned to Monty and Bellamy. “Where did they even come from? I thought the Ark was made of all the stations.”

“It was,” Monty nodded to himself. “I think it’s Eligius. They were a prisoner mining colony. Becca originally made the nightblood for them-so they could survive the radiation of space. The worst of the worst, sent out into space for labor. They lost contact with one of the colonies, Eligius II died, and they lost contact with Eligius IV, but I don’t know what happened  to Eligius III. Either way-they’re not safe. They sent terrorists and serial killers up there, not peace advocats.” He looked out the window fearfully, as though expecting the mothership to suddenly attack them.

“It could be guards,” Harper said optimistically. “They sent guards too, right? Maybe after the first Praimfaya, they stopped receiving calls from earth and decided to come back and see what happened?”

 _We can’t be that lucky,_ Roan thought, but he kept his mouth shut. This was the first time any of them had felt hope in years. He wasn’t going to ruin it for them. Besides, they might be.

“Raven,” Bellamy said. “Can you radio them?” The woman was typing away furiously, flicking all sorts of switches that he still didn’t comprehend, six years later. She pulled over a microphone.

“Hello? This is The Ring. Can anybody hear me?” She paused, waiting. The radio hummed lowly. No one answered. She tried again. “Hello? I repeat, this is The Ring. We are orbiting earth right next to you. Eligius, _can you hear me?”_ Still, nothing.

“You said we don’t have enough fuel to land on earth safely. What about reaching the ship?” Bellamy said dubiously. Roan pivoted to face Raven again.

Her entire face brightened, eyes gleaming in triumph.

“Hell yeah, I can get us there! We can take some of their fuel-they probably have tons! Loading, though….” she bit her lip. She squared her shoulders. “You guys got twenty minutes to pack your shit. Emori- you’re with me. C’mon.”

 

_They were going home._

 

The launch wasn’t easy. Entering the loading dock nearly killed them.

 

The ship was dark and cold, and somehow made the ring feel exotic and welcoming. Somehow. It was also empty. Everybody went down, apparently. Emori and Raven entered the room and started searching through logs and records so fast Roan blinked. How did they even read that? Honestly, he really had no idea. Tech wasn’t his thing, and he had to respect Emori for taking it up so quickly and so well.

Bellamy poked at a mug that says ‘Best dad ever’ on it. Raven pulled up the captain’s log, and they all huddled behind her to watch.

Roan wasn’t going to lie. It was scary. And a little disappointing-just once, couldn’t they catch a break? The guards had been ruthlessly uninformedly slaughtered by the prisoners, led by a woman who reminded Roan of his mother. A less crazy version of her, perhaps, but just as cold and intelligent and homicidal. Raven pulled up her file, skimming through the report.

“Charmaine Diyoza. Former navy seal-army, before Praimfaya- turned terrorist. Bombing campaigns, assassinations-at the time of her arrest, she was the most wanted person in the world.”

Bellamy and Roan swore in unison.

 

_They really were simultaneously the luckiest, and the unluckiest group of people in history, weren’t they?_

 

“Get us down, Raven,” Roan breathed.  She nodded grimly.

 

It came out of nowhere- one moment, they were all aiding Raven in her work, the next, a great hulk of a man-and Ran didn't say  _hulk_ lightly, because he was pretty large himself- came running at them with blind rage, roaring like a lion and trying to bash Murphy's head into the wall. Roan punched him in the face, breaking his nose, and all that did was make him angrier. He screamed and sent Roan reeling with a single shove. He had the eyes of a cornered animal, and Roan knew there was no reason left in his mind-there was no  _mind_ to speak of at all. roan drew his blade, throwing it like a lance. He had not neglected his training, no matter how safe it felt in space. The sword flew as sure and deadly as it was, piercing straight through the man's chest and into his heart with a wet  _shluck_. It was a sound he hadn't heard in six years. It probably should have disturbed him more than it did, if Bellamy's face was any indication. But the other man didn't say a word about it. Still rubbing his throat, he turned to the others.

"Murphy-you stay with Raven, Emori, and Echo." He didn't give Murphy a chance to argue. "Roan, Harper, Monti-you guys are with me. We need to find out if there's anyone else on this ship. I'd rather avoid any other happy little surprises."

 

_Ha! They had no idea. Cryochambers-the very thought boggled his mind._

 

_Nukes, missiles, guns, artificial acid fog, nuclear reactors-what the hell was wrong with sticking to sword or bow? Hell of a lot fewer casualties, in his opinion._

 

"You're kidding me, right?" Bellamy said sharply. "There are two hundred and eighty-three people here-and you want to find a way to kill them all?" 

"It's called  _leverage,_ Bellamy," Roan said flatly. It was also called  _what Clarke would do_ , but he wasn't going to say that out loud. He hadn't been seriously punched by Bellamy in over four and a half years. 

"two hundred and eighty-three! I thought we were done killing people six years ago-when the world ended!" Bellamy said hotly. 

"And we were!" Roan snapped back. "And now we're back to it, because it might be necessary. And if it  _isn't_ , then we  _won't._ What else do you want to do? There are over  _six hundred of them, three hundred of which are in_ Eden  _right now,_ and we don't know that anyone in the bunker survived, so they outnumber us. This is the only leverage we have. We all know that the chances of them willing to share that the  _last green spot on earth_ is low. We talk first. But if they decide they want to kill us, then we have a backup plan. Raven, can you do it or not?" She sighed heavily, and Roan felt a twinge of regret for asking this of her. She wasn't Clarke-she couldn't see the end and justify the means. Roan supposed that made her a better person than him, but it didn't matter. 

_And if we do this, and we fail anyway?_

 

_Then we die, knowing that we did everything in our power to save our people._

 

This was his people now-

"Roan is right," Echo spoke up. She was leaning against the wall, arms crossed. Roan looked at her gratefully. Their relationship had been tough, the first three years. But she had grown. A little more confident of herself, of her place as one of them, and her reverence and his hatred had faded into a mutual respect. She followed him now because of who he was, not who he had been on earth. No longer her king, but still her leader. There was trust, now,  friendship even, and Roan was grateful to have her at his side.

 

 Despite their best efforts, getting the fuel loaded still took te=wo hours. And then, Raven gave them the news. 

"I have to flip the switch manually. There's no way to do it from the ground. But it's okay," she rushed. "I swear, it's fine-there's another ship. Once you guys figure things out with Eligius, I'll come down." Roan relaxed, letting the tension drain away from his shoulders. 

"Every hour," he said solemnly. "If we don't reply, or we sound like we're under duress-you pull the plug." He hated telling her this-deep down, Raven was kind, and her moral compass was stronger than everyone else here, except maybe Harper. Raven nodded, her face pale and lips pressed tight together.  "I'll be fine," she said with faux cheer. 

"You heard her," Murphy said. He ducked his head, not looking at any of them-especially Emori. "Can we go now? I haven't breathed fresh air in six years." He glanced slyly over at Roan. "Not to mention, Clarkes all alone with Eligius, and they're all a bunch of terrorists, serial killers, and rap-" Roan snarled, and Murphy snapped his mouth shut with a loud  _snap._  

Roan clenched his fists and took a deep, steadying breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Belammy staring at him with an odd, startled expression on his face. Roan felt a tinge of guilt- he had never told the other man about Clarke's cell. The drawings. He turned away. 

"Right then. Emori," Bellamy took a breath. "Don't let us crash and burn and die, alright?" 

"No pressure," Emori said dryly. She looked a little green around the gills, though. 

 

_This was it. They were returning to the ground._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 How utterly  _stupid_ of her, but when the ship came down... For a single, exalting moment, she thought it was her friends. That she had been wrong, and maybe they had just been delayed for an unknown reason. But the ship was-large. Too large, and most definitely not their little eight-people-max rocket. 

No, it was  _fucking_ Eligius, because of course, they would be alive when the rest of humanity was dead. (Because if the bunker wasn't dead yet, they most certainly would be once food and resources ran out, and there was nothing she could do about it) 

Clarke debated killing them all-one by one, she could pick them off, and then perhaps she could return to her peace- but she didn't. Not yet-she needed to keep a few of them alive. To fly the ship. This was  _perfect._ A ship this size would most definitely be able to free the bunker from the rubble. Clarke mentally listed all the things she needed to learn. 

_Weapons capabilities_

_Number of crew_

_Is there another ship?_

_How many on said hypothetical ship._

_Who is in charge?_

_What is the quickest, most efficient way to kill them, in the largest numbers possible?_

 

They had come onto her territory, still smelling of the blood they had spilt, weapons prepared to kill everyone and anyone they came across-thus proven by the death of a poor squirrel, whose only crime was making noise- they had encroached upon where they did not belong, and _Death was not happy._

She was to be the last of her kind. Earth was better off without humanity. But now  _they_ had come, bringing with them the perfect tools to save the bunker, and the obligation had returned because Clarke had sacrificed too much not to save them now. Saving them was  _necessary._  

The first thing Clarke did was disable all her hunting traps. It would not do to have them die before their time and learn of her presence. When she was ready, Wanheda would come for them, and make them pay for their unwitting crimes. She removed her sketches from her village home.  It was a good distance away from the Eligius landing site, and this gave Clarke the time to pack everything that said  _human being_ into bags that she slung from Beo's shoulder and they brought to the cave. (The rover had been in another cave for four years now, and she wasn't going to risk leaving tracks) She took dried jerky from her reserve, eating while she stalked them through Her woods. 

Was this how the grounders must have felt, watching them when they first came down from the sky? They were foul, clumsy beings, and they left filth all over her village, showing no respect for the land. They were loud, too, and disgustingly incompetent. They depended entirely on their weapons. But it wouldn't save them-Clarke new how these strange, powerful guns worked. Or she knew enough to guess. One of them, she made plans to steal. One of the idiots, drunk and foolish, destroyed her village house with it. Clarke noted the make and model, counting how many they had before slinking away in the shadows.

Less than a day. Not yet twenty hours, and look at what they thought to do. 

 

She was going to kill the entire lot of them. She was the Commander of  _Death_ , the  _survivor,_ the  _Wolf._  

Wanheda decided their time had come.

 

Clarke worked through the night, under the cover of darkness, slowly sneaking her way into the village. It was roughly around midnight now-though who had use for time, anymore? She slowly prepared every trap she had set here for the years. At the time, she had been worried about bears stealing her cache of food. They were quite conveniently placed, and the Hononkru (Prisoner clan, in Trigedaslang) did not think to look for them now. Their leader was smart-the woman named Diyoza. Clarke had listened to them all day through Beowulf's ears, and three very important facts had become apparent. 

One: Diyoza was in charge, and had been smart-or foolish- enough to give a shoot on sight order. 

Two: Diyoza did not have as much control as she may have thought. There was a second one-McCreary. Just the name sounded sleazy to her. He lusted for power, this was clear. He also didn't like taking orders from a woman. The prisoners were divided already. Were Clarke them, she would have followed Diyoza. The woman had descent foresight and a sharp mind. She didn't lack guts or spine, either. She seemed to have their best interest at heart-even if their best interest was a greedy, ignorant one. She had taken charge of fools-sheep. 

Three: No matter how much more convenient, Diyoza was the only person Clarke would not kill. She was pregnant. Beo could smell it from a mile away. Here was the one line Clarke was not willing to cross. She was just sneaking out of the village when it happened. 

A falling star streaked through the sky, hot and brilliant, and now Clarke recognized it, the little white rocket of eight-people-max that originally left in that same stream of fire.  _They were alive._ And they had-waited? _All this time?_ Had Hononkru not come down, would they have stayed in the ring forever? 

Clarke had no time to ponder this-Hononkru was waking, and she had to leave.  _Now._

_Beo was waiting at the edge of the woods. Clarke jumped lightly on his back. It would take Eligius a while to organize themselves, and her friends would have to wait._

 

_The traps came first._

 

True to style, it  _did_ take Hononkru a full two hours to organize themselves into sectors and begin probing the woods. By then, the traps were set. A red dawn rose, and the screams began. The first three traps, Eligius was willing to dismiss as 'missed'. After the fourth trap-the fourth  _death,_ they wised up and began to probe more cautiously. It didn't do them much good-a bear was much better at spotting these things than people, and the traps had been originally planned for them.

 They set off nearly all fifteen of the traps in the village. Most of them, Clarke guessed, had died instantly or at least lost a limb, the blood loss dragging their souls into a place beyond escape. Clarke and Beo listened from a safe distance away-a wolf heard much more than a person ever could. When she was sure that Hononkru had been sufficiently delayed, Clarke went to find  _them._

 

Her friends.

 

 

 

She almost didn't approach them at all. Hononkrue, she wasn't afraid of. But these people?  These were people she had  _mourned and grieved and called out for and finally let go of, relinquishing them to_  death. These people were enough to make Clarke want to flle the valley and hide in Becca's lab all over again, never to come out. They were  _right there_ , stumbling out of the rocket, and oh  _god,_ how was she supposed to tell Bellamy that his sister was still locked in that bunker? That she hadn't managed to get them out?

How was she supposed to tell him that she was already killing again, and that this time, she didn't feel  _any_ guilt? He wouldn't understand-it was guilt over their kills that had bound them together, originally, and without that guilt, Clarke didn't know how speak to him. Roan might understand. If he was still the same person from six years ago, which he probably wasn't. They weren't even all there-and that worried her. Where was Raven and Murphy? Curiosity spurred her past the fear. Curiosity and-longing. 

 

It had been  _so long_ since she even  _spoke because she didn't need to speak to Beo anyway he knew everything like she knew everything-_

 

His eyes were such a bright silver, and they only landed on Beo, walking at her side, for an instant before they were back on  _her._  

 

 And the  _understanding_ in them was enough to bring  _Wanheda_ to her  _knees._

 

_He already knew what she had begun._

_And she saw approval there, too._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Finally done! I'm sorry about the delay-I got a SERIOUS case of writers block, writing their reunion. I rewrote this after I finished it the first time because it felt really disjointed. It still does, honestly, but I'm not sure what else to add. Sorry, I probably let down a few expectations here, but I SWEAR it gets more intense and feely next chapter.

 

The moment their eyes met, Roan knew. Eligius didn't stand a chance; their fate was sealed from the moment they touched The Ground.  Her eyes-they were mismatched, which was new, but fitting, somehow. It didn't escape his notice that the wolf- _Beo_ , he remembered- had one blue eye as well.  

She had changed-expected, after six years, but somehow she  _hadn't._ She was still  _Clarke_ , she just... grew into what that name meant, he supposed. Wanheda wasn't hiding anymore. Her hair had grown out, braided into a multitude of tight braids and streaked in places with red berry dye, reminding him of the first time they met, in that trading post, but it was a brighter shade now. Her clothes were well worn and grounder style-a mix of leathers and furs in dark colors that allowed one to blend in with their surroundings. She had a bow slung across her shoulder, a hunting knife strapped to her forearm and a sharpened sword hanging from her waist. Somewhere along the way, she had taught herself to use these things. Of course, she did-it was Clarke. She took the most despairing, impossible situations fate through at her, tossed them on their ass and kicked them in the teeth, emerging triumphant and stronger than before. 

Tears welled in her mismatched eyes, and Clarke staggered, falling to her knees. Roan burst forth like an arrow off its string, falling to his knees in front of her and pulling her close, tucking her head into his neck and burying his nose in her hair, breathing her in.

"We heard you," he gasped. "Your last call, we heard, but then we had to fix the radio, and we called you back and you never replied..." Clarke sniffed.

"I was so tired of never hearing anyone call back, and I couldn't stand the walls anymore," she said quietly. "We left right before dawn...." Ah, yes.  _We._ Roan pulled back, tilting his head to look at the beast in wolf's clothing. 

The wolf was as big as any horse he had ever ridden. Painted in charcoal, it had eerily mismatched eyes -one of which was the  _exact_ shade of blue as Clarke's- and grooves on its muzzle. Bear claws. Roan recognized those marks from a lifetime of dealing with them. The wolf padded over on legs thick and churning with muscle. His paws were bigger than dinner plates and his teeth.... they were longer than his index finger. This wolf could eat him for dinner.

Roan wasn't afraid. Clarke trusted this animal, and he sensed somehow that their bond transcended physical boundaries. He stood, reaching out with a cautious hand. A wet, leathery nose snuffled his fingers, and the wolf made a low keening sound-not a whine, but not a growl either. Roan took that as a sign of approval. 

The scream made them all jump, and Roan jerked his hand back when the wolf snarled. This seemed to snap Clarke out of her trance-she jumped to her feet, placing a calming hand on the beast's muzzle.

"Right-" she took a deep breath. "Eligius is coming. The traps won't delay them for too long-we need to leave." She cast a regretful look at the others, twitching with her whole body. It was as though she wanted to reach over to them, but she was held back somehow. Roan wasn't sure what-she knew most of them a hell of a lot longer than she did him. 

"Traps? Clarke -what is going on? Why did we here a man  _scream_ just now!?" Clarke squared her shoulders, the emotions slipping off her face like water from open fingers. 

"Like I said-Elgius. They've been here for little over a day. You woke them up when you landed, and they aren't exactly friendly. I've been... I've been killing them off." She scratched the back of her neck nervously. "Pretty sure this one makes seventeen, now, but it might be more."

Monty, Harper, and Bellamy looked horrified. Murphy seemed impressed, and Echo and Emori looked almost smug, which made Roan nervous. He sensed a friendship coming, and the idea of these three plotting together was enough to send a thrill down his spine.  _He was so damn freaking happy that she was_ alive _because he had been fearing the worst for_ years. 

"Look, Bellamy, they aren't exactly friendly, alright? They were prepared to shoot the first person they came across, and until this morning, I was completely alone. Can we go now, or do you just fancy getting blown to smithereens?" She snapped defensively.  _Ah_. She was afraid of their judgment.  Roan shifted on his feet, drawing the attention to him. 

"Let's go," he said firmly, shooting Bellamy a warning look. That scream hadn't been far off, and Clarke was looking increasingly jumpy, gazing off at the treeline with dark eyes.  Bellamy's lips pressed firmly together and he nodded, but not before giving Clarke a dirty look. She ignored him-ignored all of them- taking off for the nondiscriminatory shelter of the trees. 

They followed in silence. A good majority of their concentration went to staying on their feet. The sudden bumps and tree roots and plant life felt like it was purposely trying to trip him and knock him off his feet-it was shockingly different from the unceasing flatness of the Ring Roan had grown accustomed to.

Every once in a while, he would look ahead to see Clarke nimbly hopping over roots and fallen logs, wolf/beast at her side, the two entirely different species moving in perfect synch. Every time the wolf's ears would twitch, Clarke would look in one direction or another, as though she, too, heard this mysterious sound.

 

 

The sun was hanging high in the sky by the time they reached Clarke's cave. It was set at the upper side of a gorge,  offering water and shelter from rain or snow. It was also inclined in a way that sent any rainwater  _away_ , decreasing the chances of getting flooded. Roan approved. Clarke had chosen her shelter well. A curtain of ivy crept down the walls of the gorge, hanging over the cave opening. Clarke pulled it open, revealing a surprisingly large space. She grinned, but it was strained. 

"Welcome home."

 The walls... Roan cringed a little. They were covered in drawings.

Clarke had drawn...everything. all of the men, women, and children, their skin blistered and burnt from radiation. There was the dropship, depicting that final moment where their flesh gave way to ash and left nothing but bone, spines arched in agony. Then there was TonDC, birthing great waves of smoke into the air. Roan could almost smell the ash, hear the screams. She even drew them- sometimes fighting, other times laughing. Even Echo was there, sword raised and face painted. On the final, far wall, it was blank and dark...save the eyes. Roan knew there were nine hundred and something eyes on that wall. He shivered, faced with the magnitude of sheer  _death_ that she had dealt out, all within the short span of nine months. The cave felt haunted, and Roan wondered how she slept, with those eyes watching her all the time. The silence hung thickly.  Roan was not afraid of what she was, or what she had done-but it felt as though she had taken the souls of the dead and dragged them into the walls.

"We-you drew us on there too..." Monty said tremulously. Clarke cleared her throat. 

"It was after year five arrived. I thought you were all dead. So I thought-I thought if I drew you on there too, I would never forget. What you all looked like." She cleared her throat. "Come one. I've got food over here." That served well enough as a distraction, perking everyone up visibly.

The dried jerky was tough, and not particularly tasty, by past standards, since they couldn't light a fire-eligius was out there - but after six years of algae...Well, even Roan groaned as it touched his tongue. 

Clarke watched them eat with an almost fanatic expression, staring at each of them in turn as though if she looked away, they would disappear. He could understand that-he felt the same. There was so much he wanted to ask her-how did you survive, when did you find this place, how  _are you, really?_ Six years without any human interaction-he couldn't imagine, didn't want to imagine, what he and Bellamy had subjected her to. 

So instead, he cleared his throat and said "Eligius. We had to steal some of their fuel to come down-we didn't have enough to come down." She exhaled slowly, and Roan watched the tension drain away from her shoulders. She smiled slightly.

"I wondered-when I saw you come down, just a day after eligius, I thought maybe you chose to stay in the ring..." Roan shook his head. 

"And eat that algae willingly?" he joked faintly. 

"Hey!" Monty straightened from his slouch. Roan ignored him, smirking a little.

"What did you do?" Echo asked sharply. "When they came down?" Clarke blinked at her, jumping a little when she first spoke. Roan had noticed that-Clarke seemed to have to brace herself every time she spoke, and her fingers always twitched whenever somebody else spoke. Roan wondered when, before their arrival, was the last time she talked at all. He had...Called her every day, and not once had she received them. It was a disconcerting, even if he had known this would most likely be the case.  

Clarke shrugged, and the motion sent little cascades of movement rippling through her long hair. "I...they landed far from my village, so I had time to empty everything out." She motioned to some leather bags leaning against the wall. "Mostly, I just disabled my traps so they wouldn't know to look for them-that's what made them so effective today. The leader is Diyoza, though Mcreary acts as her sort-of second. The group is pretty divided on who to follow, so we could probably exploit that." Bellamy made a noise in the back of his throat. " I'm planning to keep Diyoza and the guard-Shaw, I think- alive. He's the only guard, so I'd bet he's the one flying the ship. He can help dig out the bunker..."

"Why are they still there in the first place?" Bellamy demanded. Clarke winced, and the wolf snarled lowly. Everyone else flinched. Roan snorted silently. Bellamy deserved that.

"I tried, okay? It was the first thing I did when we left the lighthouse. The tower completely collapsed on them. i nearly got crushed to death shifting things around." Roan clenched his fist-he could almost see it, reaching the bunker and finding her corpse, mummified by the desert... 

"-doesn't mean we should just start  _slaughtering_ them!" Roan refocused on the conversation. Clarke stiffened, and the wolf snarled again, baring his wickedly curved teeth. Clarke put a calming hand on its snout.

"Yes, well, I don't answer to you, Bellamy, and what else can you do? Say, 'hi, I come in peace, please don't kill me and, hey, while we're on that, why don't you help me dig out twelve hundred  _warrior people_ that aren't going to be happy having guns pointed at their faces?'. " She held up a finger. "Actually, I know-you can just go hold hands and sing  _Kumbaya_ together and work miracles with the power of friendship-"

"We can  _negotiate_!" Bellamy snapped. Clarke huffed.

"And what are you going to bring to the table, hmm? You have nothing to offer!" She sounded annoyed now, but there was an undercurrent of anger, too. Her eyes had gone from crystal and hazel to turbulent seas and near-black.

"They have two hundred eighty-three of their people on the ship. Raven and Murphy are there too; ready to pull the plug." Roan said lowly. Clarke arched a brow at Bellamy. 

"I'm sorry, but you're criticizing me  _why?_ " she said dryly. Bellamy flushed a little. 

"It was hardly my idea-but yeah, we can  _negotiate_. This way, we can at least  _try_ for peace," he said pointedly.  Clarke glared back at him, saying nothing. For a moment, none of them dared speak. 

"Fine," she snapped. "We can try it your way. But if they try  _anything_ , I  _will_ start putting bullets in their brains. " She stood and stormed out of the cave, growling "help yourselves to the food," as she did. The wolf stayed, seated on its haunches, watching them with cold eyes and low rumbles. Roan jumped to his feet and made to follow her. Beowulf leapt in front of him, snapping his teeth. Roan halted. 

"I need to talk to her," he said to the wolf. It stared back at him impassively. Roan wasn't entirely sure why he bothered, but he still said; "I won't hurt her." Beowulf growled warningly one last time before backing away, leaving the way open.

And Roan chased after Clarke. She was hurting, he knew, by the disgust her once closest friends now looked at her with.

 

And Roan couldn't stand the thought that she might think he felt the same.

 

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

It didn't hurt as much as it probably should have, which somehow made it worse in a very different way. Clarke could already see how it was going to go. Her friends would be there, and the bunker, too, freed through whichever method, and then there would be....Her. On the outside. A small ember of rage smoldered in her chest. It wasn't fair-six years ago, Bellamy would never have looked at her this way-like he expected  _better_. She was protecting herself-protecting Beo. The both of them. She was doing what was necessary-only this time, she wasn't going to let the enemy back her into a corner.

And she had... Forgotten. Forgotten that buried animosity between her and Raven-for killing Finn. The unease of Monty, for not writing Harper's name on The List. Murphy and Emori-she almost put Emori in that radioactive chamber. That could hardly be forgotten. Echo-they'd been enemies for a while, and at most the spy owed her a favor. Bellamy, she had left behind. And it hadn't been out of necessity like him and Praimfaya. She had needed to mourn and left him to struggle alone. Then he had lived six years of peace on the Ark. While Clarke acknowledged that space was difficult...Earth was worse. She and Beo had nearly died, time and again, for almost three years. They had both learned to lie and not just survive. They just also learned to live differently.

As for Roan.... Spacekru was his people now. Clarke wasn't going to get in the way of that.  _You've had your rest,_ Wanheda said.  _Now there is work to do. You are here to get things_ done.  _Let them hate you-they will be alive to do so, at least._ Clarke leaned against a tree, sliding down the trunk until her bum hit the ground. She'd been alone for six years. 

_Deal with Eligius._

_Free the Bunker._

_Get everyone back to the Valley._

_Go back to your pack of two._

She squared her shoulders; hardened her resolve. She could do this.

 

Of course,  _he_ had to ruin it.

 

" _Clarke._ " So many hidden depths to a name; she shivered from it. Clarke took a breath, summoning ice to her voice.

"What do you want?" His small wince made her regret it instantly. Clarke pressed her lips together, suppressing any apologies. 

_I'm sorry._

He settled down next to her, head tilted back, exposing the sleek lines of his throat. Clarke watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. Her fingers itched to draw him. Not as one of the many dead on her wall, but as he was now, bathed in moonlight, an exquisite subject of light and shadow, hard and soft.

"Well?" she sighed, softer now.

"I thought you might need to talk to someone."

"No, I don't," she said without thinking. "Not counting the last two days, I haven't spoken out loud in three years." God, that sounded really depressing when she says it out loud. Roan made a choked sound. Clarke blinked, tilting her head. "What?" She said defensively. "It isn't like I need to talk to Beo. He already knows everything I'm thinking." He ignored the last part of that statement, not knowing what she meant.

"You shouldn't...you shouldn't have been here alone. I-I'm the one who told him to shut the door...."

"And I'm glad," Clarke said earnestly. He made that same, pained noise again. "I am, Roan. If you didn't-I was never going to make it back in time. And if you hadn't-I think I might never have gotten over the things I did. Being on the ground, away from everything...It put things in perspective. And there was something to do-every single day. Sitting in a can up in space, stewing over the things I did...That sounds pretty painful to me." Roan sighed deeply.

"It was," he muttered, almost to himself. Then he shook his head. "How-what happened? After we....Left."  _You behind._ Clarke cringed. Should she be honest here? The truth was... Fairly painful, and she knew from experience that it would probably make his guilt worse. But it she didn't say it now... Clarke knew that it would become the type of barrier that grew over time. 

"It was.... I was going to end it." Clarke confessed. Roan jerked, swiveling to face her. Clarke held up a hand to stay his response. " I could see Praimfaya coming, and I was still stuck on top of that tower. So yeah, I was going to just... Wait for it. I climbed down and just sort of wandered. Closer to the lighthouse, thankfully. And then... I found Beo. I don't know why it seemed so important, but...He didn't have a suit, or nightblood, or  _anything_ , not even his mother. And it was just-so fucking unfair. He had made it this far, was still alive, and I was just giving up. I've never felt so ashamed of anything in my life. I grabbed him, stuffed him in my suit, and just started running. We almost didn't make it. I tore my suit at some point, and... I don't know. I got us past the doors somehow, managed to peel off the suit halfway-I don't remember what happened after that. I passed out. Actually, I think I vomited up some blood, too.

"After that, it was....One day at a time. If I gave up then he died, too. So I didn't. I radioed you from the lab after the first three weeks. Every day, for a whole year. But you guys never heard me. I found this room....It was full of all these fitness programs-including martial arts. Taught myself to fight-I could probably kick your royal ass, now." Roan laughed lightly.  She suppressed a delighted shiver-this was the first time she'd ever heard him laugh, she realized. She wanted to make him do that again. "Then there was the last radio call... I found the rover, and we headed off to the bunker. Took a while, and I left in such a hurry that I barely brought enough water for the two of us. We tried, Roan, we really did. It was just...So much rubble and I couldn't risk breaking the rover trying to move it.  I went to theArk." Clarke ducked her head. 

"You....Buried them?" Roan said carefully. Clarke nodded, staring at the ground. 

"He left a note for Monty. I still have to give it to him. I buried them all. Headed back to the lighthouse to restock, and then I headed in the opposite direction. It wasn't too bad, frankly. We ate the ah, bugs on the windshield. Maybe it was living off rations for a year, but.." Clarke wrinkled her nose. "They actually tasted pretty good."

"Definitely the rations," Roan deadpanned. Clarke grinned a little. 

"Probably," she agreed. For a moment, the conversation faded. It wasn't an awkward silence, just companionable.

 

"Am I a bad person?" she asked finally. "For not....Regretting it."

"No," Roan told her. "You're not. You were protecting them. It's as simple as that." Clarke nodded, easing out a breath.  _Wanheda settled._  

"Roan." She turned her head to look at him.

"Clarke," he murmured back.

"If these negotiations don't work...I'm going to kill them all. And I don't think I'll be doing it for them." She motioned towards the cave, not too far behind them. 

"Then don't," he said softly. "Find something else to do it for." Clarke pondered that for a moment. She didn't want to do it for Spacekru. She didn't want to do it for Wonkru, either, not as they were at this moment. She was tired of hiding from leadership, from power. If she did this-it would be for a people that belong to  _her._ They were part of the past, now. So why did she need to kill Honokru? Not because they were bad people-every single person alive, at this point, qualified as 'bad'. But they threatened her territory. They threatened her and  _Beo._  That didn't seem like enough, somehow. Not for pre-planned genocide. Clarke tapped her fingers against the bark of the tree.

_Tap tap tap tap tap._

"I suppose I'll have to make my own Kru," she mused. 

"Kru of three, then," Roan said lightly. Clarke arched a brow. "Beo counts, doesn't he?" Roan said smugly.

_Yes._

_He did._ Of course Roan would know that.

"When we open the bunker, it will grow," she warned. Especially once she got the chip. "They'll probably try to stop me, too" she pointed out.

" _They_ will, yes," he agreed. Clarke exhaled.

"But you won't."

"No." 

"Will you help me?" 

"Must you really ask?"

"It's a dictatorial relationship."

"It's the ground. Nothing else would survive." Clarke nodded, getting to her feet. He followed.

" _Come then,"  Wanheda said. "We have work to do."_

 

 

 


	10. Author's Note

Hey guys. I know, I know. I was pretty damn consistent in the beginning, and I'm slipping. But school is well on its way, now, and I'm starting two other fics right now. (Only one has been posted.) So, here's how it's gonna go. I'm gonna be posting When it Shall End once a week(every Friday) My second fic, A Gift is Given to be Used every Saturday and my yet to be named fic every Sunday. It's gonna be multi-chapter dumps.

 

Sorry, I know it was probably more satisfying once a day, but I've got a lot to do.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know, it's been forever, and I'm sorry. Last week was incredibly busy, andI've been sick since thanksgiving-still got the sniffles, but I'm powering through to write this.
> 
> More chapters later today, I promise! 
> 
> ENJOY!
> 
>  
> 
> ALSO: I OWN SHIT-ALL ABOUT THIS, BEOWULF ASIDE, SO ALL HAIL KASS MORGAN AND CW! I MAKE NO PROFIT FROM THIS.
> 
>  
> 
> ALSO ALSO: Is anyone else giving up on the tv show? I think I might be. Some new photos came out of Bellamy and Echo being all cuddly, and I don't think I can stand that for another season, *sigh.* If I hear the word otherwise that they get together and he drops echo, I might go back and watch it.

Roan walked beside Clarke through the woods, suppressing a blissful sigh each time their shoulders brushed. It was a light, tentative feeling, but her heat seemed to breach his coat regardless. 

"One of the Eligius wandered into my trap, to the east. Beo smelled him on the way home. If we're lucky," she continued, "they left the body-and his radio." Roan chuckled. 

Goddamn Clarke Griffin Wanheda Kom Skaikru. Always thinking of  _everything._  

Then he frowned.

"How do you know what it-he- smells? That is..." _Impossible._  Clarke didn't answer, looking away with a thoughtful expression-not quite frowning, eyes turned inward. Roan gave her time. She would answer when she was ready, he knew. Pushing would gain him nothing from her.

"It happened around month eight," she said after a while. "I thought I was crazy, at first, maybe going crazy from the isolation, I don't know. I started having these..." she wiggled her fingers obscurely. "Dreams. Like I was inside Beo's head." Roan frowned, A knowledge lay in his head-something he had guessed at, subconsciously. But that was impossible, and he knew it.

"At first, it was only in sleep. I contributed it to Beo being the only living, sentient being I had touched or seen in two-thirds of a year. Then I started having them when I was awake, too. It's amazing, Roan," she breathed. "Like...Like having A.L.I.E in your head, almost. A...A hivemind, except neither of us is dominant over the other. What he sees, what he hears, what he thinks- I feel it  _all._ " She pointed to her temple. "In here. He receives everything from me, too. I already knew you weren't going to hurt me, by the way," she added. Roan paused, halting where he was. Clarke turned, smiling almost ruefully. Just a little tilt at the corners of her mouth. 

 

_I won't hurt her, he had said to the wolf._

 

"It's how I've been able to spy on them," she said softly; carefully, nervously. "Beo only needs to get so close to hear them-and he can smell from pretty damn far, too. He's the reason I know that Diyoza is giving orders and that she's pregnant. It's how I now that Shaw is the only person left who can fly that ship, and that McCreary doesn't want to obey a woman..." Clarke trailed off, watching him warily.

Roan grinned ferally. "Never a normal day with you, is there?" Clarke relaxed, smiling wryly. 

"Not really, no," she admitted. they began to walk again. Clarke's eyes swept the space around them, searching for something. This-connection- the two had, Roan mused, could be extremely useful. 

"Have you ever tested it?" he asked suddenly. "Are you both limited by distance?" Clarke shook her head.

"Not dramatically, but the furthest we've gone from each other is opposite ends of The Valley. And that was just out of curiosity. There just-wasn't any real need to." She grimaced. "Besides, neither of us like to go too far  from the other anyway." Roan detected some loneliness there, and it sunk a knife in his chest; wrapped aggressive hands around his windpipe and squeezed. He held back his instinctive apology. Clarke would never want it or see how it was necessary, and Roan knew now that she might have suffered worse if she'd gone up to space with the rest of them, might have never found her peace. Roan decided to just say nothing at all.

 

The man was dead when they found him-had been for a nearly a day, now. The sun was setting, casting the forest in a miasma of shadows and fire-gold hues. Blood trailed out of the man's mouth, and his leg was nearly severed entirely from below the knee.  Clarke hardly spared him a glance, crouching down and searching his clothes. It was stupidity, really, that they actually left the radio on him. They took it, along with his coat, hunting knife, and gun. It was different than any Roan had seen before, with sharper edges and a foreign metal for bullets. But otherwise, it was the same. Clarke suggested he keep it-"I already have plenty," she told him.  Roan shrugged, tucking the gun in his waistband. After checking the safety, of course. Monty had told them all the story of how he nearly shot himself in the ass once and was lucky enough that Bellamy thought to ask him if he'd put on the safety. 

 

Clarke led them the long way around, pointing out landmarks he made sure to remember, in case he needed to go off on his own. Together, they caught a rabbit-he steered it, scaring it off for shelter, only to die when Clarke dropped on top of it, grabbing the small creature's leg with experienced ease, stabbing it in the eye. A quick, clean death, that left no blood on the ground. The rabbit would go to Beo, Clarke explained, because he didn't like the cooked jerky, and it didn't do much for him anyway. "He's bug-he needs to eat a lot, or he gets grumpy, and a grumpy Beo can make everything miserable. Trust me."

"Without question," Roan said solemnly. Her eyes flickered, and then she beamed. 

 

The smile slipped off her face as though it had never been the moment they reentered the cave. Spacekru-Roan had chuckled when she told him the name, though it seemed fitting, as they weren't really Skaikru anymore. There was Spacekru, Hononkru, Wonkru and-she hadn't really decided if she would rename Wonkru when she took command.  

Clarke tossed the rabbit to Beo, who snatched it out of the air with a snap of his teeth, tearing into it enthusiastically. And loudly. Clarke glared at the canine with false ire before turning away, muttering about wolves, table manners, and something about eating grandmothers, which made Roan frown; confused. There weren't any grandmothers left to eat, so what was she talking about? She seemed to notice this and snickered. 

"It was a child story-little red riding hood. Her grandmother got eaten by a wolf, as did she, before a hunter came and cut them out of his belly. I always thought it was funny that she would mistake her grandmother for an oversized dog." Roan wrinkled his nose. 

"That sounds like a strange story," he said blandly. Clarke shrugged. 

"Better than the girl who fell in love with a beast." Roan choked, but Clarke made no further comment. She turned to the others instead. 

"Get some rest," she suggested cooly. "Tomorrow, we negotiate." Her tone clearly expressed her lack of faith in the idea. Roan sighed, observing the tenseness in between them all-Echo and Emori aside. It was going to be a long, long night.

 

 

 


	12. Approach, Approach, said Death. Do not be afraid, I Will Not Hurt You, Lied Death. The Fools, They Believed Her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, disregard ANYTHING that I EVER said about a posting schedule. Life is HECTIC right now. I'll post when I can, sorry. *hides*.

The morning was tense, but the threat of Eligius was enough that everyone worked together fairly well. Monty and Harper would hang back with the Eligius radio monitoring for trouble, while The others treated with Eligius, who was to remain oblivious that they were missing a radio. (Though, Clarke suspected, not for long, because Diyoza was smart and cleary former armed force of something) The woman would undoubtedly come to realize this on her own before long.

 

Clarke held back, allowing Bellamy to approach Diyoza in the rover. Roan had convinced her to -grudgingly- allow him to be the first one to speak to Diyoza, since he was 'certainly less intimidating, and not hell-bent on their annihilation. Clarke conceded, seeing as he had a point.

Lending him the rover made her nervous-if they destroyed it with their guns, she was going to fly into a rage, because that was their fastest method of transportation. Beo aside, but he could-and was willing to- only carry one.

 

They observed from a distance as Bellamy approached the village. It was easier than it would have been yesterday. Hononkru had considerably shrunk their perimeter out of fear for her traps. She felt mildly proud of that. Clarke sat beside Beo, legs extended in front of her, back against the wolf's flank. She matched her breaths with his, a form of almost-meditation that soothed and put her at ease. If she did this long enough, she could even synch their heartbeats, but that took time and concentration she didn't have right now. Roan was in the Rover with Bellamy, waiting for the go-ahead to retrieve the rest of them. Clarke wasn't overly worried. Diyoza would have to be an idiot to kill either of them, knowing the cost would be two hundred and eighty-three of her own. All it took was a radio call, and everyone knew it.

Less than -what Clarke estimated to be- five minutes later,  the rover pulled out of the village, one person short. "Here we go," she murmured. Echo and Emori got to their feet. Neither of the three women was particularly chatty, and Clarke had yet to really talk to either of them. She did, however, appreciate their genuine relief at her continued existence, and warm-if less personal- welcome. They were grounders -Emori a scavenger and thief- before they were Spacekru, and had lived their lives from a similar perspective. Clarke still wished Murphy was there. The Cockroach and The Wolf. It sounded like a folk-tale she had learned as a little kid. He would have made a million sarcastic jokes by now. Emori, surprisingly, hadn't mentioned him once, so Clarke suspected they might no longer be lovers. Perhaps the monotony of space had done what it had to so many others on the Ark: filled every aspect of their lives, until there was nothing but the grey walls and artificial light. She had witnessed it happen to many a person and couple on the Ark, knew it was yet another of many a danger in space.

Clarke jumped lightly to her feet before crouching to scratch the underside of Beo's muzzle. "No hunts, alright?" she murmured lowly. "Stay out of sight." The wolf bared his teeth and snarled a protest, but Clarke knew better than to be wary. They were equals, and he was asserting his own self-dominance. But he would listen, knowing that the hunt would happen eventually. Clarke wasn't stupid. The valley did not have the resources to sustain the bunker and Eligius. She owed her allegiance to Wonkru. BUt Eligius did not have that advantage. Sooner or later, peace-treaty or not, they would die. Clarke would see to it because, otherwise, a war would happen anyway. Bellamy was, at best, delaying the inevitable. Two very violent people, sharing a too-small space? It was like locking two rabid wolves in a cage and giving them a single piece of meat.

Never the less, freeing the bunker came first.

Taking control came second.

Slaughtering Honokru came next.

 

Clarke mounted the rover with this list in mind. She smiled tightly at Roan, who dipped his head in return. "Here's to hoping we don't all die," he muttered. Clarke snorted, but didn't reply.

They drove back in silence, each one unwilling to break the silence. There wasn't anything worth saying, anyway.

"All right, Raven," Roan said into the radio. "If I don't check in every half hour, you pull the plug." 

"Got it, co-leader," Ravens strained-but still snarky- voice said back. Clarke closed her eyes, savoring the sound. Had she truly only been alone for six years? It felt like a century now, and every time one of them spoke, it sent a million little ripples of shock through her mind. She would do her best to keep them all alive. It was what she did, after all.

Clarke toyed with the knife handle, strapped to her forearm. She did not know how to make her own weapons, but she had salvaged and cared for a good number of them in the village. She had burned their previous owners. Sometimes, Clarke still dreamed of the ashes. It was that moment, more than even seeing the desert, that made her confront the reality of Praimfaya-of being the last human on the surface of the earth. 

Roan drove them straight into the little courtyard. Clarke had fond memories of this little space. She and Beo had always started their hunts here. It had been ritualistic, she could admit. They would eat here, and pack supplies here, and Clarke would say-and later think, when she had stopped speaking and embraced the silence- the same thing, always. "Teik in homplei stot au."  _Let the hunt begin._ How fitting, that they would meet here, with their own soon-to-be hunter. The irony made her smile, and she kept it on her face as she exited the rover. 

They were effectively surrounded by Eligius. Clarke sniffed subtly. Even without Beo, she could smell the heavy, sweet metal of blood. It hung in the air like dew in the mornings; an invisible red mist. (Was that an oxymoron? Invisible red?)  They glared hostilely, fingering guns with unhidden eagerness. This presented a new danger. Diyoza's authority was still shakey, and the last thing they needed was some trigger-happy moron deciding to shoot them against orders. A trigger happy moron, like McCreary or his followers. She would have to isolate McCreary from Diyoza, as soon as possible. Or maybe just kill him. Diyoza probably wouldn't mind. Of course, if she was really lucky, then McCreary was caught in one of her traps. But no, she probably wasn't. The worst always survived the longest, after all. Good thing she was worse than anyone here, ha!

Diyoza had had a table brought out from one of the (undestroyed) houses. Clarke calmly took the seat furthest from Bellamy, putting herself directly across from Diyoza. Roan, Echo, and Emori sat between them., with Roan closest to her. She semi-regretted that. Diyoza seemed to sense the tension, and the woman's sharp grey eyes narrowed just a little bit. Clarke gritted her teeth. Once, she and Bellamy would have both have been perfectly in synch, agreed on where a meeting like this should go. But now? Now, she was admittedly nervous about the two of them contradicting each other in a way that could be extremely dangerous. It occurred to Clarke that they had the same exploitable weakness as Hononkru right now-two different leaders. Three, if you counted Roan, but he was sort-of her second, firmly on her side, and ready to let her take the lead.  _Trusting_ her to take the lead. Even now, his knee pressed against hers; a deliberate action, because he was nothing  _but_ deliberate. Clarke pressed against him a little, a  _thank you, I appreciate you, and I trust you too_ all at once.

For a moment, she studied Diyoza. The woman was a soldier, no doubt. It was in her eyes, in the sharp lines of her face, even in the way she pulled her hair back and out of the way. It was in the gear she wore and the gun she set -with her fingers close to the trigger- on the table, and had hanging from her hip.

"How many died?" Clarke asked curiously. Diyoza stiffened, and, behind, her, McCreary shifted. Good. She needed him stupid and angry; needed him reckless, because Diyoza couldn't afford him this way. Not too reckless though, lest he shoot her in the head.  _Carefully, carefully, Wanheada murmured._ She smiled slowly, a wolf playing with its prey. "I heard the screams, of course, but I didn't bother to count after sixteen. I would offer my apologies, but you  _were_ going to kill me first." Diyoza tilted her head.

"Me? Don't you mean we?" Clarke smiled wider.

"I stand by what I said. And I asked first, I believe." Diyoza's face tensed, then relaxed.

"Nineteen." Clarke added that to her count-and soon, the scars on her back and tops of her arms. Roan had yet to see them, as she'd kept her coat on so far. 

She hummed but didn't reply. Bellamy, along with the rest of eligius, was glaring daggers at her. "Your friend tells me that you want our help digging out a bunker," Diyoza said. "Why should we help you?" Bellamy opened his mouth to speak, but Clarke spoke before he could utter a word. 

"You already know why you should help us. The only question is how much you value two hundred and eighty-three of your people's lives. Either they are worth it or they are not. Decide, before your hour is up. I would hate for a misunderstanding to ruin everything, and communication can be such a tricky thing sometimes," she murmured. Diyoza's eyes sharpened, and, to Clarke's surprise, laughed. McCreary and Bellamy-and Roan too, actually- all stared at her like she was mad. 

"We could have been wonderful friends, you and I," Diyoza said. Clarke hoped they might still become friends in the future. She and Shaw were the only ones she did not plan to kill. She might yet change her mind on Shaw. 

"We could be," Clarke agreed. "But we would have to stop being enemies first, I would think." 

"Listen, bitch," McCreary snarled, stepping forward with his gun raised. Clarke had hers out and pointed at his brain in the next heartbeat. Diyoza twisted-carefully as any pregnant woman- and snapped,

"Shut up and stand down, the adults are talking." Heh. "Better yet, go find Shaw."  _Wonderful._ Tensions were deliciously sharp already. Clarke leaned back in her chair, relaxing a bit now that the dangerous moron was out of the way. "Once Shaw gets here, we can discuss the logistics. But in the meantime, what the  _hell_ happened to my god-damned planet?" Diyoza snarled. 

Clarke wondered how crazy this must be for her-to leave when the earth was still healthy and civilized and return to find it a dry, cracked wasteland, with a single dot of green all that was left. She settled back, allowing Bellamy to explain the story while Echo and Emori carefully watched the prisoner guards. (That  _had_ to be an oxymoron) 

She snapped back to attention when McCreary returned, a dark-skinned man, wearing a guards uniform and sporting artful tattoos on his arms beside him. God, he seemed almost like a kid in Clarke's eyes. He was nervous, too. His shoulders were hunched, instinctively, and his eyes flickered between McCreary and other fellow Eligius. A guard with a bunch of prisoners. He had reason to be afraid. Were he not the pilot, he would most definitely be dead right now. Probably quite painfully, too. Hmmm. Perhaps he could be persuaded to a different side. Self-preservation worked wonders on a person's loyalty. He didn't sit-there wasn't a chair, and he didn't seem to want to anyway. Good for him-he would be a fool if he actually wanted to be here. 

The next hour teetered between boring and interesting. At the very least, Clarke learned a number of useful things. McCreary might very well be the child's father (Assumed from a few comments snidely made when he chaffed from her commands) Shaw had a bit of a hero worship going on with Diyoza (though he still feared her) which made Arya wonder just how currupt the pre-Praimfaya world must have been. Most importantly, she learned that Hononkru had missiles. She consciously focused on not clenching her fists and jaw. They were Mount Weather and she was the grounder. She had killed Mount Weather, of course, but the disadvantage chaffed. Praimfaya changed things-there was nowhere left to hide beyond the valley. Hoping to survive elsewhere was futile. 

 

Entering the ship made Clarke uneasy, beyond reason. She should be comfortable. It was darker than the ark, certainly, but still all grey and metal. Perhaps that was why she felt this way. The Ark had few happy memories, and Earth had only served to taint them further. The lack of color, too, where Earth was  _dripping_ with a thousand shades of greens and blues, yellows and reds and oranges, even brown. Roan slipped his hand into hers, and Clarke flinched from the sudden warmth against her palm. (Human warmth, without fur and fang and claw, how strange it felt now) Before he could pull away, Clarke clenched her fingers around his own, squeezing firmly. He squeezed back.

Clarke had never paid much attention to things like PTSD. She was the leader, she didn't have time to be traumatized and broken. But here, all she could see was her father, eyes so so sad before they weren't there at all, his body sucked out of the airlock before she could even blink. 

Going to the Ark with the rest of them really would have been torture, Clarke realised, if she could barely stand a foreign ship.

 

 

 

Then they dug the bunker up. Might as well have invited the devil into their homes. But that was okay.

 

They say even the devil bows to death. 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	13. Devil, Meet Death

Clarke didn't know what she had been expecting. She had dreamed of being reunited with her friends in space. Constantly, and in great detail. She had spoken to them on the radio for a year. But she hadn't given the bunker much thought. Their survival had been nearly guaranteed, in her mind.

Then she failed to dig them out, and wrote them off as 'doomed to die.' She had failed to save them, and there was absolutely nothing she could do. She made her peace with that.

Thus, Clarke had no image at all in her mind when Eligius destroyed the debris -and the roof of the bunker. 

 

But it definitely wasn't  _this._ Clarke wrinkled. The pit-the  _fighting_ pit- stank of blood. Fresh, coppery; old and rusty and utterly disgusting. Blood stained the walls in heavy, dripping masses. Some of it was brown and crusted. Some of it was still wet and sludgy. And some of it seemed to hang in the air, like a scarlet mist. She could taste on her tongue with every breath, feel it coagulate in the back of her throat. Despite herself, Clarke cringed a bit. This was just foul, and she could already see it's purpose. It was brilliant-make the people hate each other, and not the leader, whilst reducing population.

Octavia stared back at her. Blood tainted her, too. It lay thick on her warhead, like fricking war paint. Despite herself, Clarke cocked a brow. Really? Warpaint? In an isolated bunker? How pathetic.  

Marcus was sprawled on the ground before her, arm raised in helpless defense. Octavia was poised above him, frozen, sword still raised at his throat, eyes still crazed from the fight. Clarke wondered if that was a deeper mania that she saw beneath the fury and adrenaline. Slowly, Octavia moved to point her sword-at Roan, standing at her back. He tilted his head, but made no other move. With the same slow caution Clarke had seen thousands of times in cornered animals, she moved again, until the blade-crusty with blood, Clarke was beginning to sense a theme- was aimed at Diyoza. Her eyes flickered over the lot of them until they came to rest on Bellamy. He was staring at his sibling with wide eyes. 

"Bellamy?" her voice trembled a little bit. 

"O," he breathed. "O." Her hand fell to her side, the sword slipping from lax fingers. The two lunged for each other at the same time. Despite her disagreements with him, Clarke was glad for Bellamy. She knew how much he cared for Octavia. Clarke only hoped the love for his sibling wouldn't blind him to the fact this his sister was very much changed from who she was six years ago.

Gaia and Indra made their way into the pit, along with Miller. They hovered protectively beside Octavia, who pulled away from Bellamy after whispering something in his ear. She glared at Diyoza with open mistrust-but her gaze flickered to Roan again, and Clarke saw something dark and ugly seethe in her eyes. From the way Roan shifted his stance, Clarke gathered he saw it too. It occurred to her that Octavia hadn't been a very stable individual after Lincoln's death. 

Miller watched them, fingers hovering over the trigger of his gun. In his eyes was the same fanatical loyalty Clarke had once seen in Thelonius' eyes. When he was still a part of the city of light. Clarke narrowed her eyes at him, and the others. 

"Where is my mother?" she asked at last.  Octavia's malevolent glaze turned to her. Indra stepped forward before she could say anything. 

"I'll take her to her mother," she said firmly. Octavia narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, but nodded. 

"Go," she commanded. Clarke tugged on Roan's hand.  _Come with me. And keep away from_ her. She hadn't considered this-stupid, stupid! Roan was supposed to be dead. Him being alive was a direct challenge to Octavia's authority. She never truly won the conclave, because there was still two contestants. It shouldn't matter at this point. It's been six years, after all.

 With hindsight, it was a silly squabble. The whole conclave was utterly ridiculous. But the grounder culture held these things sacred. Not for the first time, she cursed their foolish ways-always ignoring the voice of reason. 

Roan's fingers clenched around her hand, and then let go. together, they jogged after Indra. Clarke swore she could feel eyes burning a hole into the back of her neck. She forced herself to ignore it. Right now, her mother was more important.  

A faint feeling of warmth and sunlight suffused her, and Clarke was startled to realize how faint her bond with Bea was. The thought nearly drove her into a panic-but Roan brushed his hand against the small of her back. 

"Easy," he murmured. "Easy. Save it for later." Clarke took a deep, calming breath.  _Later,_ _later later later-_ she was going to fucking kill Eligiud. She despised them for making her leave Beo. How dare they, when she was  _finally happy-_

But they also brought her Roan.

 _Well,_ Wanheda said dryly,  _we_   _hate them anyway._

"Fair enough," Clarke muttered. It took her a moment to realize she had spoken out loud. Thankfully, it served well enough as a response to Roan's words.  _Have I been speaking out loud to myself for four to five years?_ Had she just not realized that? Shit, was she crazy?   

Clarke was startled enough by this thought that when Indra stopped walking, she almost ran into her. Indra dismissed the guards with a sharp tongue and even sharper words, mentioning how very stupid they were to remain to guard a helpless prisoner when the Blodreina's life was in danger. 

"The bunker is open! Protect your queen!" she spat. The guards left without another word. It spoke volumes that they barely looked at her and Roan. Indra entered a code and opened the door, motioning for them to get in. With a certain amount of trepidation, they did. 

 

Abby was seated at a bench. Her entire posture screamed defeat: her shoulders were steeply hunched, her back bowed, her hands wrung together and pressed against her forehead. 

She didn't turn at the sound of the door opening, just curled into herself further. 

"Is Marcus dead?"

"Not yet," Clarke said softly. She couldn't think of anything else to say, and it would be rude to ignore the question.

Abby twisted around, jumping off the bench and to her feet. 

"C-Clarke?" she sounded so...Broken. And lost. Clarke smiled tremulously. 

"Hey, mom," she whispered.  Slowly, like she was approaching a newborn babe, Clarke stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her mother. Abby broke into tears, sobbing openly and clutching at her daughter. 

Despite her relief, the utter  _joy_ buzzing through her veins-Clarke felt almost high on it- Clarke experienced the deeply uncomfortable sensation of having to be the adult, once again, and comfort her mother. It reminded her of when Abby broke the radiation machine, all those years ago. The thought was enough to snap her back into focus. She pulled away.

"We need to go," she said darkly. "Things are...Tense. You need to get out of here. Now." Abby shook her head like a dog shaking off wet. 

"Not without Marcus-I can't leave without Marcus!" she begged. Clarke sucked in a breath, looking to Indra. 

"I'll get him to the surface," the woman said at last.  "After that,  you are on your own."

Clarke nodded, knowing that was as good as it was going to get. She also added Indra to her mental list of possible allies. She would have to observe her dedication to Gaia closely. If Gaia chose to give her the flame and accept her as commander, would Indra follow? She was already moving deliberately behind Octavia's back to save Abby and Kane-but that was out of loyalty to her friends, not disloyalty to Octavia. Still, Clarke could work with that. Indra would be a good ally to have. She was smart, capable, but also flexible in the face of reason. Clarke hoped, anyway.

"Wait-" Roan spoke to Indra. "Why was he in there in the first place? I struggle to picture Kane as a trouble-maker." Indra gave him a dark look, one part dislike and two parts foreboding. 

"He was caught with drugs. He refused to name the person that actually stole them. Octavia was forced to sentence him to the pit. He tried to not fight. He won, but the crowd was displeased. Octavia made him fight again today, and he refused. If you are not Wonkru, you are the enemy of Wonkru." If that wasn't a mantra, Clarke didn't know what was. 

She was not part of Wonkru. Roan was  _definitely_ not part of Wonkru. Neither was Bellamy, for that matter, but Clarke knew he would be the exception. But what about Emori, Monty, Harper-great ground, what about  _Echo?_ She  _stabbed_ Octavia, for goodness' sake. She was lucky to have stayed behind in the valley, Eligius or not. Clarke had no doubt that Octavia would want to return the favor.

With one final wary look in Roan's direction, Indra left. Clarke tugged on her mother's arm. "Let's go," she murmured gently. Abby nodded, making for the door. 

"You should leave," she warned Roan. "Octavia will kill you. She has to, to stem any rebellion." Rebellion? Figures Octavia would turn into a nasty dictator. Clarke sighed soundlessly through her nose. She would hate the earth, she really would, except all her problems were caused by  _people._ Irritating, shallow minded creatures, that's what humans were. 

"Why don't we focus on getting out of the bunker first," she snapped impatiently, "and then worry about dying via psychotic blood queen, hmm?" Roan's lips tilted up in a faint smile. Clarke felt her muscles relax a bit. Together, they ran back for the pit.

Somehow, Abby procured a scarf, wrapping it around her face. She raised the hood of her sweater as well. It was as good a disguise as they were going to get. 

They were lucky that the pit was so packed with people. The ropes could only raise two people at a time, and the going was slow. Clarke crossed her arms and ducked her head, raising her own hood. In the dark, rather weak lighting, her hair stood out like a beacon. She may have to consider dying it completely again. It was far too distinctive, bleached by the sun as it was. At last, their turn came. Clarke made Abby go first, then Roan, then herself. 

She clipped herself in, grasping the wire as it pulled her u, up, and out of that wretched place. She swung herself over to the solid-ish ground and unclipped, moving to Roan and Abby. "Into the crowd, let's go," she murmured. Now was not the time to stand out. IT was easy enough to blend in-the only lights were those from the ship, and a few fires that had somehow managed to be lit in the last hour and a half. 

They seated themselves on rubble at the edge of the crowd, furthest from the light. Twenty minutes later, Marcus sidled up beside them, linking his hands with Abby. Well, at least that hadn't changed, Clarke mused to herself. 

"Shouldn't we be up there?" Roan said lowly. He gestured with a hand to where Octavia, Bellamy, and Diyoza where all facing each other. Diyoza seemed dangerously calm, and Octavia seemed dangerously close to violence if the rage on her face was anything to go by.

"If they renege on the deal, will he make the call?" Clarke asked Roan. He considered that for a moment. 

"For Octavia's sake, if nothing else," e said at last. God, how she missed his low, raspy voice with its rough, musical tinder. It reminded her so of crackling coals in a low-burning fire.

"Then I think we should stay as far away from Octavia as possible," Clarke said darkly. "Especially you, considering she supposedly killed you in the conclave." 

"Luna was the one that supposedly killed me," Roan pointed out.

"Somehow," Clarke's lips twisted in a dark smile, "I think people have conveniently forgotten that detail over the last six years. Your resurrection is going to be quite a shock. Too many people know your face, so I doubt it will stay secret for long." Roan growled under his breath, and Clarke laughed a little.

"If I go crawl up a pile of rubble and yell at the top of my lungs, 'I don't want to be king, thank you very much,' do you think everyone will just let it go?" he asked rhetorically. Clarke snorted, wrinkling her nose. Roan's eyes caught the action and lingered. Something hot lurked underneath that wonderful steel. Clarke looked away, discomfited by the sudden, unfamiliar heat that bloomed in her stomach.

 ** _FWWOOOM._** The fountain exploded, shattering into a million pieces, and Clarke jumped, drawing her knife instinctively. People screamed in shock and fear, scattering like desert sand in the wind.

_WHAT._

_THE_

**_HELL_.**

Clarke placed a hand on Roan's chest, keeping him where he was. Diyoza turned to face the crowd.

"I know your people are armed," she said loudly. "If anyone moves towards their weapons, you will see what our guns do at full power to the human body. It isn't pretty." No, Clarke imagined not. "Where is Abby Griffin?" She called out. 

"She's  _our_ doctor," Octavia hissed helplessly. 

"What are you doing?" Bellamy yelled. "One call from me-"  _But they cut communication somehow,_ Wanheda hissed _._ Clarke turned to Abby.

"Go," she whispered. "Go with them, and take Kane with you," she whispered. Abby took a deep breath and nodded. "I love you," they said at the same time. With a bitter smile, Clarke pushed Abby forward and then watched her mother leave. She and Kane walked slowly to the center of the clearing. 

"I'm here," she said clearly. "We will go with you. Peacefully." Diyoza's gaze flickered over Kane, perhaps recognizing him as the one Octavia was about to kill. She shrugged.

"Take them both," she ordered. Clarke inhaled sharply, watching with bated breath as Abby and Kane were escorted into the ship.  

"They will be fine," Roan reassured her. "If they don't have a doctor, then they can't kill Abby. And they can't kill Kane, or she won't cooperate." Clarke nodded mutely, knowing he was right, even if she didn't like it. 

Movement in the corner of her eye made her head turn. A scraggly-haired man with one of those blaster guns was moving to aim at Octavia. 

Clarke's knife embedded itself in his forehead, just as he fired. The shot went wild, hitting a Wonkru soldier instead and sending Octavia flying back. The man-exploded. He burst into a miasma of blood and little bone shards that clattered faintly as they hit the ground. 

Clarke had the odd thought that there wasn't nearly as much blood as there should be. It must have been vaporized-along with most of his organs.

"Get to the ship!" Diyoza yowled. Hononkru scrabbled, even as Wonkru rushed forward. 

 

Hononkru left them there, a week-long journey away from the valley, with an entire desert to cross. It was a death sentence, essentially. 

 

"They need hunters," Clarke muttered. "Farmers. People who would actually know how to maintain the valley. Diyoza has to know this-she'll be willing to make a deal. On her own terms, this time." She scowled. "they got Raven and Murphy somehow, too." This time, real worry crossed Roan's face, and he looked almost pained. 

"I need to keep them safe-they trusted me. I can't betray that." 

"I won't ask you to," Clarke said honestly.  "We will get them back. I promise, Roan." He clenched his fingers around hers, and Clarke leaned into his side comfortingly.

 

"We will get it all back, Roan. We will."

                                 

_Even if she had to slaughter the entire bunker, too._ _  
_

 

 

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been FOREVER, hasn't it? Well, I got my charger back a little while ago, but truth be told, it's been so long the wheels in my head have rusted over. Sorry, it took a LOT of effort to crank this out. Hopefully, you can forgive that. Enjoy!

Just reunited, and one of the siblings was already injured. Honestly, Bellamy and Octavia were a very unlucky pair, Clarke mused.  She was leaning against the wall of the new "command center." In truth, it was just a decrepit building above the surface, one of the few that had not fallen apart completely. Clarke was nervous about it-she still remembered nearly being crushed to death in Polis all those years ago. Roan stood beside her, quietly reassuring in his presence as they listened to Octavia speak. 

    "That route won't work," Clarke spoke up. Octavia turned her malevolent eyes to her. Something was very, very broken in the woman's psyche. Clarke had-merged- with the identity of Wanheda. Blodreina seemed to have consumed Octavia completely. 

       "And why is that," Octavia hissed. Her many guards all shifted. Sweet ground. "It's the shortest route." 

       "And the most dangerous," Clarke informed them. "The sandstorms-"

       "Wonkru does not fear a bit of sand," Octavia snapped. 

        "I'm not just talking about sand," Clarke struggled to reign her temper. Great ground, people were so _annoying._   "Praimfaya was so hot it heated some of it to shards of glass. If you get caught in a sandstorm, the glass will tear your tents-and you- to shreds."

         "We only have enough food for a six-day trek," Cooper said, gazing at her queen. "The sea route will take seven. Any others are adding at least another two days, if not more. We don't have a choice." Yes, that made things harder-but the sandstorms nearly destroyed the rover beyond repair, much less some half-decayed tents.

"The sandstorms come without warning," Clarke cautioned them all. "You might not survive long enough to take the Valley. Diyoza has missiles. She has a ship meant for mining unfamiliar terrain, which means she probably has a way to see you coming." Some of them shifted uncertainly, but Octavia only glared at her. Clarke wondered when was the last time someone questioned her judgment. "Do with that what you will."

      "And what would you do?" Octavia spat, somewhat desperately. Clarke said nothing. She wasn't entirely sure yet. Blodreina smirked.

"This is the  _last_ green spot on earth. We  _deserve_ to have it." 

Here they were again, Clarke thought. Everyone always thought they had better reasons than the other. In a way, she preferred Diyoza-the Eligius leader knew they didn't deserve it, she was just taking it anyway. Clarke-Clarke just wanted her home back, and Beo, and neither side was going to keep her from getting it.

     Wonkru left that night.

 

   Clarke had forgotten just  _how much_ she hated the desert. She  _hated_ the sand in her boots, trickling down her socks and sticking to her sweaty feet. She  _hated_ the dryness that led her tongue to stick to the roof of her mouth. She  _hated_ the sweat that pooled in every dip of her body, and she knew she smelled terrible right now. Her only consolation was that everyone else did too, including Roan.

      He was lying next to her in the tent they were sharing, along with the rest of Spacekru. They were resting the days and marching the nights in order to not become immediately and fatally dehydrated. Of course, the heat made it nearly impossible to actually fall asleep. Now more than ever, Clarke missed her valley. 

        She closed her eyes, thinking of green, dappled shade, the sweet taste of berries and smoked meat, _bathing_ in the lake  or under the waterfall, and...Beo. They had-they were everything to each other. They had never been apart before. The link was so weak, she could barely sense him. It was like someone had taken a knife and carved out a part of her brain. So strange, to not be seeing through his eyes, hearing through his ears, smelling with his nose. She missed it, missed it with such desperation that it ached, deep beneath her breast. 

      "Clarke?" Bellamy. Her eyes snapped open.

       She lolled her head to look at him. "Yes?" He actually looks...Concerned. 

       "You're crying," he said uncertainly. Somewhat dumbly, Clarke pokes at her cheek, staring when it comes away wet. Well. She hasn't cried since year five. How embarrassing, especially with everyone else watching.

        "Sorry. Memories, you know," she said lightly. She rolled over and firmly closed her eyes. 

 

        Clarke began to plan. 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
